The Doctor's Christmas Truce
by Seagull 116
Summary: The Doctor is pulled to the Western Front where the threat is greater than man killing man. Can he bring a little Christmas spirit to a world at war? My first fan fiction. I'm writing it for my wife, a big Doctor Who fan, in the hope I complete it by Christmas.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The grey-haired man turned from his book as a console light blinked to life. The red light cast stark shadows onto the walls of the chamber.

"Oh, what is it now?" he said before walking down the few steps from the bookcase to the offending section of the console.

The man hesitated more than a moment once he was in front of the blinking light, his eyes narrowed in concentration, lips pursed with indecision.

"What is it now?"

There was nobody else in the room, yet he acted and behaved as if he was not alone.

"Am I to have no time for myself? Even I need a holiday you know."

His hand hovered over a nearby switch when the light stopped blinking. He brought his hand to rest on the console. A finger stroked along part of the console frame.

"Good," the man exhaled. "Can't have been that important then. Now if I can get back to my books—"

He stopped in mid-sentence, and his hand dove into an inner jacket pocket, returning with a small leather note holder. A quick flick of the wrist and it opened to reveal two pieces of white paper, one in each side of the holder.

He stared at the six words appearing on the paper.

The piece at the top said, _Doctor come quickly_. The bottom, _we need yo_.

"We need yo," he muttered. "What does that even mean? Oh, aha. We need you. Of course, you do."

He tapped the note holder absent-mindedly against the fingers of his other hand. A distant look in his eyes, his mouth moved with rapid, unheard words.

"Doctor." The voice jerked him back to the moment and spun his head around to stare at the speaker from where it came. "Doctor," the voice continued. "Come quickly, I need your help here."

"Young human female," he stated. "Agitated, but not in a panic. I wonder what her problem is."

He stood gazing at the speaker for a few more moments as if he could determine more about the person uttering the words.

Then, without warning, the main lever on the console activated of its own accord. A familiar thrumming began, and the great discs at the top of the central column began to rotate.

"No," he wailed. "What? How is this possible? No."

The man dashed to the control lever to reset everything, yet it appeared to be locked in place.

His head bowed down until it came to rest on the console frame. "Not again," his voice pleaded. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doctor, come quickly," the female voice once more came from the speakers. It repeated twice more before he lifted his head from the console to turn his face to the ceiling.

"Okay," he said. "You win again. I just hope this isn't a waste of my time."


	2. Chapter 1

**One**

The surrounding bustle pulled his consciousness back to the present. Unable to open his eyes he gasped aloud, and his hand flew up to his unseeing eyes, only to stop when it encountered the bandages. His throat felt like the Sahara. Coughing, he raised himself on his elbows and tilted his head to one side in an attempt to hear what was happening in the vicinity. He remembered little of recent events.

"Captain?" a voice to his left asked in a thick, northern accent. "I'm reet glad to see you're awake again, sir. How you feelin'?"

"Jenkins," he croaked. The private's name flashed into his memory. He paused, waiting for more details to follow. "Where the hell are we?"

"We're at the CCS, sir," Jenkins replied. "Do you remember anything, sir?"

He bent his head, creases forming on his brow as he struggled to remember. "There were six of us, moving back through No Man's Land," he rasped. "Someone slipped into a shell-hole, McIntyre I think. An enemy patrol must have heard him as the next thing I remember we were in a vicious little ruck. No idea how many there were, but we beat them off. Even bagged ourselves a prisoner.

"We must have got turned around during the fight as we ended up in a different part of the line. Not a part I recognised." He paused, his face creased. "I… I can't remember much else."

"Sir," said Jenkins. "The lieutenant ordered me an' Private Grant to bring you all down here, seein' as you were all blind, like."

"That's good of you," he replied.

"Weren't nowt to it, sir," Jenkins replied. "It's me job, an' Grant would've dunnit even if he weren't ordered to. It's just…"

"Just what, Jenkins?"

"Well, sir, McIntyre was a pal, sir. We lived on the same street back 'ome. We all made a promise that we'd let the families know what happened, like if any of us didn't make it."

"Where is McIntyre?"

"Only you three and the Fritz got back to the lines sir," Jenkins answered, his voice quiet. "Bishop copped for one a few yards from the trench line. McDermott and two Jerries did for each other in No Man's Land. They…"

"What? What did they do? Dammit, come on Jenkins," he pleaded.

"Jesus, sir," Jenkins whispered. "They ripped each other to pieces, all three of 'em. Didn't look like they were too particular about who they stuck their knives into neither."

"What about the rest of us, Jenkins?" his hand reached out and grabbed Jenkins, pulling him even closer. "Tell me. I need to know."

"I dunno, sir," Jenkins wailed. "The nurse said summat about damage to yer eyes. Strange stuff. To be honest sir, I don't understand any of it meself."

He sat upright on the bed and struggled with the bandages.

"Nurse," he called out. "Nurse."

A moment or two later a firm female voice spoke from near the bed. "Now captain," she said. "Please don't do that. You'll make things worse."

He felt a soft hand brush against the side of his face as its owner grasped his own hands and with a firm insistence pulled them away from the bandages.

"You must try not to get too upset, captain," she said. "The doctor says it should pass given time. In the meantime, I have other patients who need my attention more than you do."

He listened as her footsteps faded away, to be lost amongst the general noise of the casualty clearing station and the distant rumble of artillery.

"Who was that?" he asked Jenkins.

"It were the nurse, sir," Jenkins replied.

"I know what she was, Jenkins," he maintained his patience. "I meant what is her name?"

"Oh, sorry sir," Jenkins replied. "No idea, sir. Everyone calls her nurse."

"Remind me never to send you with messages to HQ."

"Yes, sir."

More wounded men arrived at the station. The nurses and attendants dealt with them quickly and efficiently without regard to rank or nationality. The steady stream of casualties became a flood, and the sound of men with shattered and broken bodies soon filled the clearing station.

Several loud explosions came from nearby.

"Overs," commented Jenkins. "Fritz is shelling the crap out of the line tonight, sir."

This casualty clearing station was over a mile behind the front lines. Any men the regimental aid post could not help ended up here. It was close enough to the lines to decide on who might live without more serious treatment, or who needed the more intensive care provided by a field hospital. It tried to make what remained of life as comfortable as possible for those beyond further help.

"Nurse," someone nearby called out.

Running feet and then someone coughed. Great big hacking coughs. Again that same soft voice calling out amongst the confusion and suffering.

"Doctor. Doctor," she called. "Come quickly. We need your help. I can't stop it."

"What's happening now, Jenkins? Tell me," he ordered.

"Well, sir, the nurse is trying to stop one lad they've brung in from choking on his own blood," Jenkins replied. "Nasty looking wound that, shrapnel I reckon."

"The doctor? Is the doctor there yet?"

"No, he's… ah, 'ang on, here he is. Bit of a dodderer if you know what I mean, sir. Though, he seems to know his stuff and he in't afraid to get his hands bloody."

"When he's done, get him over here, I want these damned bandages off me."

"Ah, sir, the doctor is takin' that lad out of the room."

"Damn it."

Nearby, a half recognised voice began to shout and rant. Words were mixed incoherently with animal like snarls.

"Oh crikey," muttered Jenkins. "Cready's gone an' lost it again."

"Cready is in here? Where? Why?"

"He was worse than you, sir. Had it real bad in the eyes he did. He's five, no six beds further along, next to Paddy McGiven and the hun bloke you brought back. All of you with yer eyes bandaged up good an' proper."

As he listened, the sounds of a body thrashing around on a bed became louder. The noises of the shelling and the moaning receded in his consciousness, to leave him focussed.

"Jenkins," he ordered, "help me get these bandages off, now."

"Sir, yon nurse said they were to stay put, bein' on account of it bein' bad for your eyes like."

"Dammit, Jenkins," he snapped as his own hands were busy fumbling with the unseen bandages. "Just do as you're bloody well told to."

"By you sir, or by the nurse?" Jenkins asked.

"By me of course, unless you want to find yourself on trench raiding duty for the next two weeks."

"No, sir. Right away, sir," Jenkins replied straight away, helping to remove the bandages covering his eyes.

The sounds coming from further along the room were now louder and more frantic. As Jenkins helped pull the last of the bandages away from his eyes, the large piece of cotton pad covering them fell away onto the mud-stained floor.

He blinked several times trying to focus his eyes through the tears, then looked towards the noise to witness a petite nurse trying to push Cready back onto the bed. Without warning, Cready's arm lashed out catching the nurse on the side. The force of the blow flung her away from the bed to collapse on the floor in a heap.

Cready rose from the bed. His head snapping to and fro as if searching or trapped. Another casualty, with a bloody bandage covering his head, passed by Cready's bed. At which point Cready grabbed him. As the soldier screamed in pain and surprise, Cready pushed a bayonet through the body, and the screaming died too. The orderly accompanying the casualty just stared, mouth open, eyes wide until Cready's blade plunged into his body several times. Blood spurted from the attendant's mouth as he sank to the floor beside the soldier with the bandaged head.

The nurse struggled to rise from where she'd landed.

"Doctor," she called out once more. "Doctor. Quick, he's gone mad. He—"

Her voice cut off as Cready's hand grasped around her throat and lifted her off the floor.

He watched Jenkins run in to help the nurse, only to fall to a backhanded swipe from Cready. He cast around the bed searching for his belongings. They should be here with him.

Cready had loosened his grip on her throat as he bent to pull the bayonet from the body of the last victim.

"Doctor. Help," the nurse squeaked out before the hand tightened once more.

Just before Cready could thrust the bayonet into the neck of the struggling nurse, a hand grabbed his arm and jerked it back. Cready spun around to face his attacker. A metal spoon struck him a resounding blow on the forehead before he could even identify the nurse's temporary saviour. Cready took a step backwards and shook his head.

The bayonet in Cready's hand lashed out once more, and the spoon went flying from the hand of the black-clad stranger. Two rapid thrusts, almost too quick for the eye to see, nearly caught the newcomer in the chest, yet somehow he avoided death.

The scrambling and groping around amongst his possessions paid off as his hand brushed the leather of his holster. He ripped the pistol from its holster and, jumping up from the bed, aimed the gun at the scene now before him.

Cready's arm shot out, catching the stranger in the chest and sending him crashing into the wall. Cready was upon the stranger in a flash. The bayonet raised high, ready to plunge into the vulnerable neck, should the newcomer's grip on Cready's arm loosen. The stranger's eyes were wide, sweat beaded the man's forehead.

"Cready," he called out. "Drop the bayonet now, Cready, that's an order."

He watched as the point of Cready's bayonet continued on its relentless and agonisingly slow rendezvous with the stranger's neck.

The pistol shot was a thunderbolt in the confined space of the room. The bullet struck Cready in the back, high on his right side, spinning the body around and forcing the bayonet to fall from his hand. Cready didn't fall though. Instead, the head lifted to face in his direction. Cready's lips pulled back in a savage snarl as his left hand retrieved the bayonet.

"Cready, stand down."

A roar burst from a tortured throat, and the next step was Cready's last as the second bullet smashed straight into the heart. The body collapsed to its knees before falling face down onto a floor already covered with mud and blood.

"Oh, that's just typical," the newcomer said breaking the silence. "Trust a soldier to shoot first and not even bother asking questions."

"Oh, don't thank me," he snapped. "I fired when he failed to stand down. And I think if I hadn't killed him, you would not have been in any position to be asking questions, of anyone." He turned towards Jenkins. "Jenkins, are you okay? Good, go and help the nurse."

Orderlies and two doctors came running toward the sound of the gunshots. An older doctor, whose voice he recognised from earlier, addressed him.

"Captain, what are you doing taking the bandages from your eyes? And what happened here?"

"I'd first ask who this gentleman here is," he said, waving his pistol toward the stranger in the dark clothes.

"Indeed, I know why these boys are here," the doctor addressed the stranger. "You, though, seem to be singularly out of place. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

The stranger straightened himself. Brushed at his dark jacket and looked around the room.

"I am the Doctor. And somebody here needs my help."

"Well, I'm Major Jameson, senior doctor and in charge of this clearing station," the older man said. "And nobody informed me they were sending a new doctor to my station."

"No, I'm not _a_ doctor," the stranger replied. "I am _the_ Doctor. There is a difference."

"Apart from being out of uniform you mean," Jameson replied. "Please enlighten me."

"No need," the man calling himself the Doctor replied, as he removed a black note holder from one of his pockets, flipped it open and presented it to Major Jameson. "I think you'll find this in order."

The major moved closer to the light so he could better read the paper. "Oh," he said. "I see. I still think it's bad form not to inform me beforehand."

The Doctor turned the paper to view it himself. His eyes opened wider on reading the contents. "Ah, yes. You understand why it was impossible to inform you though."

The Doctor looked around and pointed at the nurse, Jenkins and two of the men lying on the nearby beds. "You lot stay here," he ordered. "The rest of you, out. And you also stay too please, captain."

"Doctor," protested Major Jameson. "These other men are all injured. What do you suggest we do with them?"

"This is a casualty clearing station, is it not?" the Doctor responded. "I suggest you clear them."

Major Jameson's body stiffened. His lips pinched together, and his moustache quivered as his eyes bored into the face of the Doctor. He turned to the orderlies. "Come on," he ordered. "Let's get these men moved to better surroundings, toot-sweet."

Soon the room was empty except for those the Doctor had designated. The nurse stood by the wall, between the beds containing the German prisoner and McGiven. The Doctor was by the body of Cready, with Jenkins standing off to the Doctor's left.

Private Grant burst into the room, panting and confused.

"Sir," Grant said on taking in the scene. "There were gunshots and then the orderlies started to move the wounded. They weren't gonna let me in."

"Where the bloody 'ell were you?" Jenkins exclaimed. "All 'ell breaks loose and you're off skivin' somewhere."

"I weren't skivin', sir," Grant pleaded, not looking at Jenkins. "I were out back havin' a fag."

"It's okay Grant," he said. "You're here now so just stay over there and make sure we're not disturbed."

"Yes, sir," Grant replied with relief.

"Are you going to put that pistol away, or do you plan on shooting someone else with it?"

The question jerked him back to reality. The weight of his Webley Mark VI service revolver was once again noticeable in his hand. He looked up at the man who called himself _the Doctor_ , standing there in his black suit and white shirt.

"That depends," he replied. "Are you a danger to my men or not?"

"Typical," the Doctor muttered. "Anyway," the Doctor continued, "since you shot the man before I could ask him some questions, I have no choice but to do this the hard way."

"You mean before he killed you," he interrupted. "Cready would have killed you. And the only question you'd be asking would be of Saint Peter, asking him, 'what just happened?' And no amount of waving a spoon around would have changed that."

"My spoon," the Doctor exclaimed and dashed around the area looking for the missing utensil. Finding it under one of the nearby beds, he held it up to the light of a lamp and carefully polished it. Satisfied it was clean, the Doctor placed it once more inside his jacket.

He watched as the Doctor then paced around the body of Cready.

"I think—," he began.

But the Doctor cut him off with a 'Shh', pointing a finger in his direction but not even looking at him. So he folded his arms and waited.

The Doctor looked up at the nurse. "You, girl, what's your name?"

"Nurse McDonald. Evelyn Grace McDonald," she replied.

"Well, then Nurse Evelyn Grace McDonald, come here and help me with this."

She went to the Doctor's side and helped him as he rolled over the body of Cready.

"What do you make of this?" the Doctor asked her, pointing to the foam and blood around the mouth.

"I've seen worse," she replied. "You soon get to notice the effects of the gas attacks."

"Yet this is not a result of any gas attack," the Doctor replied. "Look here. And here, that is almost like the frothing of the mouth when an animal has rabies. The question is, how was this man able to attack everyone while in this condition?"

"Wrong," he interrupted.

The Doctor looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, wrong is it? Go on then, captain. Please be so kind as to tell us what is wrong."

"The question is," he replied, swallowing. "How did Cready kill two men, attack Nurse McDonald, Jenkins and yourself, with ruthless efficiency I must add, all the while his eyes were fully bandaged?"

"The eyes," the Doctor exclaimed, quickly removing the wraps of bandages from around Cready's head.

Those not confined to the beds moved a step closer to the body and the Doctor. He'd seen many dead before, it was hard not to after two years of war. Yet this was different. Cready was one of his own men. He had to look away from the dead man's face and found himself staring into the cold, grey eyes of the Doctor.

"To see the face of your victims makes it a little more personal, doesn't it, captain?"

"No," he replied. "I've seen plenty of dead men. This is personal because until five minutes ago it was my responsibility to keep him alive. What you saw, what I killed, that was no longer 18605 Private John Patrick Cready. What you see lying there is the same as Jenkins described at our trenches when we got back. The same thing we saw out in No Man's Land."

"Describe," the Doctor commanded. "Describe it now while it's fresh in your mind."

He looked at the Doctor, seeing an intense light burning in the man's eyes. "Okay then," he replied. "But I'll sit down first, if it's all the same to you, Doctor."

"Yes, of course, man, but get a move on."

And so he sat on the edge of the nearest bed and told the Doctor and the others listening, what he now remembered of the night's earlier action. At one point McGiven interrupted him.

"Don't forget about the hun prisoner, sir," McGiven said.

"What about him?"

"The other Jerries would 'ave killed him too. Bishop an' me, we had to save him from them. He were our prisoner, sir. Our responsibility, like you said."

"I don't remember that part of the episode I'm afraid, McGiven," he replied. "But well done for protecting him. Although it wasn't that dark out there. How could they not tell each other apart?

"I remember one of them got shot in the legs, yet he still tried to drag himself after us. Anyway, we must have stumbled for thirty or forty yards toward what I hoped was our own lines. We all gathered in two or three shell-holes while we tried to catch our breath. Myself, McGiven, Bishop and the prisoner were in one shell-hole. I think Cready was in another nearby with McIntyre, McDermott and Fletcher.

"I didn't hear any shells, or feel any landing. There was just a dazzling light followed by a ringing in my ears. When I could stand and look around, I could see the gas was thick around us. I yelled a warning to everyone, 'Gas. Out now. Gas.' I fumbled my gas mask on and jumped out of the shell-hole in a hurry. I remember, I looked around to see the others leaving theirs, although the gas seemed to be thicker by them. They looked to be all right when we joined up and began the trek back to our lines.

"It wasn't long before we heard the pursuit. The enemy didn't seem to be taking any care not to be noticed. I estimated a squad, maybe twelve men were following us. They caught up with us about forty yards from our trench lines. I was having difficulty seeing properly by that time. Everything was disappearing into a white mist. I could feel my eyes burning."

He stopped and looked at the Doctor once more. "I hate gas," he said. "Anything but gas. The blindness, the burning and choking, God, spare me from gas."

He shook his head and took a deep breath and continued.

"The enemy had no thought of personal safety or survival, they didn't protect themselves. As if they didn't care. I couldn't see clearly, everything was too bright. Somehow I knew where everyone was though. I could hear the grunts and gasps as McDermott bayoneted one of them several yards behind me."

He stopped as his breathing came faster and faster. When he continued, he was gasping the words out and was rocking backwards and forwards ever so slightly on the bed.

"I emptied my pistol into one of them. He was no more than six yards away. Bang, to the chest. Bang, and another one to the chest. Yet he still kept on coming. Bang, one to the head. At last, he fell in the mud. Hands outstretched towards me. Bang. Into his back. Again, and again. Click, click, click. The gun is empty. The light hurts so much. My eyes hurt. They burn. Something's wrong. Must get away from it."


	3. Chapter 2

**Two**

He stopped and looked at the Doctor as the older man waved a strange metal device in front of his face.

"That's good, captain," the Doctor said as he glanced at the apparatus. "That's excellent." The Doctor rose and walked to the two men who still had bandages over their eyes. He waved the device in front of their faces too before once more looking at it and then placing it back into his pocket.

He watched as the Doctor removed the bandages from the German prisoner.

"Nurse McDonald," the Doctor said. "Please be so kind as to help by removing the dressings from that man."

"Private McGiven," he said without thinking. "He is Private McGiven."

The Doctor didn't even acknowledge the comment. He just examined their eyes and, bizarrely, sniffed at them, as a dog getting a stranger's scent.

All of a sudden he found the Doctor facing him. "We must return to the place where you encountered this gas."

"Like hell we do," he snapped back.

"Captain," the Doctor continued, "we have to, or others may suffer your fate. Or worse, the fate of that man there. To prevent that we must return to that place."

"We?" he asked.

"Yes," the Doctor replied. "You, along with the other two survivors, will accompany me."

Before he could answer the nurse interrupted.

"These men are in no condition to be going anywhere. The effects of gas can take days to manifest themselves. All of them need rest and a period of observation."

"They need to come with me to the contact point," the Doctor reiterated. "They are the only link to whatever is causing this."

"Just what is it you are a doctor of?" she asked.

"Of everything," the Doctor replied. "But Doctor is who I am. It's not what I do. If you understand me?"

"No," she replied. "But these men are in my charge, and they're not going anywhere without someone to care for them if they succumb once more to the effects of that gas."

"And that would be you, would it?" the Doctor asked.

"Yes," she replied without hesitation.

"Okay then, you come along too."

"Are out of your mind?" he protested. "The front line is no place for a woman."

"I'll have you know, captain," she snapped, "that I am just as capable as any man here. Just because I'm a woman does not mean I'm weak, or frail, or so sheltered that I shall collapse at the least bit of hardship. I volunteered to come and do my bit for the war effort as soon as I was able. Before that, I'd marched and protested for women's rights, and since arriving, I've seen things in this clearing station that even soldiers quiver at."

"I don't doubt your commitment," he replied, trying to calm Nurse McDonald. "Or your ability dealing with the wounded and all the unpleasantness which that task brings. What I am doubting is your ability to deal with the horrors that man inflicts upon man in the madness of combat. Those same horrors that never make it back to the clearing station."

"I'm not afraid of blood and dead bodies, captain."

"Obviously not, but could you kill to save your life or the life of one of your companions? Because if you can't, then you have no business going out into that hell."

"Killing one another," the Doctor said. "The justification is so easy for a soldier. If you weren't a soldier, it would be called murder. But since you are a soldier it's called duty or patriotism. 'Doing the right thing'. However, underneath it all, it's still plain old murder."

"You are correct, Doctor," he replied turning to face the Doctor. "But out there, when the fighting starts, it's a case of kill or be killed. And I'm sure even you are no good to anyone dead."

The arguments raged for several more minutes as the Doctor and Nurse McDonald sided with each other against him. The Doctor then flashed his papers at him. He stared at them for a while. _His Majesty's Special Agent_ , it said. There was a bunch of other stuff, small print mostly. But he took it to mean it was possible the Doctor was a spy.

"Well, you may have won this one Doctor," he said. "But we can't simply waltz into No Man's Land and not expect to get into trouble."

"Oh," the Doctor replied. "I always get into trouble."

"I must pass this onto battalion, so we don't get shot on the way out, or on the way back. Also, we need to take more men. This is turning out to be a bloody marvellous Christmas."

"Christmas," exclaimed the Doctor. "Is it Christmas?"

"Well, Christmas Eve," he replied cautiously. "Or even the very early hours of Christmas Day."

"A Christmas truce," the Doctor clapped his hands together and smiled. "Perfect. We'll be able to go over during the Christmas truce."

"What Christmas truce? Nobody mentioned anything about a Christmas truce this year. We didn't have one last year, and there won't be one this year either."

"What year is it?"

He stared at the Doctor. "How can someone not know the year? It is 1916, Doctor. Two years into the war that everybody said would be over by Christmas."

"Oh, 1916. Are you sure?" the disappointment in the Doctor's voice plain for everyone to hear.

"What do you mean 'am I sure'? Of course, I am. Yes, it's 1916."

"So, no truce then?"

"After the battles of this year I doubt it," he replied with a heavy voice. "Besides, you hear the guns? They will make sure there's no truce. No, when we go, we need to go prepared for a fight."

It took less than 30 minutes for the small group to get ready enough to satisfy him. An unexpected bonus was the arrival of Sergeant Stanley and Private Bentwood, sent by the lieutenant to escort several wounded prisoners.

He looked over at the Doctor, who had refused the offer of a tin helmet. Stood close to the Doctor was Nurse McDonald, wearing a pair of breeches and her greatcoat. A tin helmet, borrowed from someone with no further need of it, sat on her head. Her eyes were wide, probably more with excitement than with fear.

The German prisoner was also with them too, even though he didn't speak English and nobody there had more than the rudimentary military German. That particular argument with the Doctor had been short, sharp and intense. He couldn't put his finger on how the Doctor had persuaded him to include the German in the party. However, convince him he had. The prisoner's soldbuch, the document carried by every German soldier, listed him as Hans Maybach, aged 22 years, a soldier in the Saxon 181st Reserve Infantry Regiment. He frowned again as he remembered the end of that conversation with the Doctor.

"Well, at least he's a Saxon and not a Prussian," he'd said.

"Saxon, Prussian, Sontaaran," the Doctor replied. "Does it matter at the end?"

That memory drew his eyes once more to look across at the Doctor. He couldn't help wondering if that was a mispronunciation of something else or a slip of the tongue. And if it was a slip, then what the hell was a Sontaaran?

Jenkins was there, as always, as were McGiven and Grant. The soldiers carried their rifles with bayonets fixed. Jenkins and Private Bentwood also bore a small supply of bombs. That had been one argument the Doctor hadn't won. How could he be so naive as to think that he could walk into No Man's Land unarmed and survive? His doubts that the Doctor was a spy for His Majesty's Government were growing. Too many little things were not making sense.

"You realise," he said to the Doctor, "the chances of finding the right place are almost impossible."

"I like the impossible," the Doctor replied. "The impossible makes life interesting."

"Oh crawling into No Man's Land is not what I would call… interesting," he replied.

"Quite," the Doctor answered.

He shrugged and decided that the Doctor could take care of himself. He'll look after Nurse McDonald and the rest of the men.

"Okay," he announced. "We'd better get a move on. With this mud, the time and the moonlight it can be an hour before we're into our start positions. Form up and let's go."

"Ah, captain," the Doctor interrupted. "I know of a quicker, and safer, route to the right location. If you'd all like to follow me."

And before he had time to protest, the Doctor was off walking away from the aid station, away from the front lines. Nurse McDonald followed him, somewhat like an excited puppy, he thought.

"Sir," Sergeant Stanley asked from beside him.

He glanced at Stanley, pursed his lips, then shrugged.

"Better follow along sergeant," he said. "See where this takes us."

"Yes, sir," Stanley replied, then turned to the rest of the men. "Okay you lot," the sergeant growled. "You heard the captain. Grab your bundle and follow on. Come on, get a move on or you'll all miss the Christmas dinner."

"Have you got a pudding, sergeant?" Someone asked from the small group.

"Shut up, Bentwood, or you'll get more than a pudding."

He filtered out the banter of his men as he followed the Doctor. At least their morale was still high. Nobody likes going through the wire at the best of times. To do so on Christmas Eve, with a strange man, a nurse, and a German prisoner of war, may have pushed the limits.

They had walked for five or ten minutes when the Doctor led them off the track and into an area to the right. Nurse McDonald followed along, her eyes cast down toward the uncertain footing of the churned field in the dark.

"Captain?" Jenkins sudden question brought him back to the present. He looked around at his batman. Jenkins nodded his head to indicate something worthy of attention ahead. He followed Jenkins' gaze and stared himself.

A blue wooden box stood in the field. There were small windows on each side and what looked like double doors at the front. A capped roof had a lamp on the top and at the base, marked in white letters, were the words _Police Public Call Box_.

The Doctor was at the door, placing a key into the door's lock.

"Doctor," he asked. "What is this thing?"

The Doctor stopped, looked around, then looked up at the sign above his head.

"What is it? It's a police box," he answered.

"It's not like any police box I've seen," he replied. "And I've seen them back in Scotland several times."

"Scotland," an easy smile lit the Doctor's face. "Well, this wasn't made in Scotland, my dear captain."

"Where it was made doesn't bother me," he snapped. "What bothers me is what it's doing in a field a few miles behind the front lines. This route is used all the time by supply troops. Someone would have mentioned it. In fact, we passed down that track earlier this week, and I can tell you, this thing was not in this field then."

"Correct captain," the Doctor replied with a smile. "But it is here now, and soon it won't be. Now if you'd all care to step inside, we can get on our way."

"How do you expect to fit all nine of us inside that little box?"

"Well, if you stand out there talking all the time you'll never find out," the Doctor retorted before he disappeared inside the box.

Nurse McDonald shot him a quick glance before she followed the Doctor inside the blue box. A light shone through the open door of the blue box to illuminate part of the ground.

"Sir?" it was Sergeant Stanley once again.

He shook his head. "May as well, sergeant," he said. "We've walked this far."

"Yes, sir," Stanley replied, and led the way into the blue box. He followed the last of the men inside, amazed that nobody had come out complaining about the lack of room. He walked straight into the back of Jenkins, who was standing on a long ramp, head tilted upwards to look at the ceiling.

"Holy fu—" Jenkins stopped himself in time. "Sorry, sir. I don't know what to say about it."

He looked around the enormous chamber himself. There was something large in the centre, a circular desk with a big pipe through the middle rising into the ceiling.

"Yes, gentlemen," the Doctor announced from the other side of the large circular desk. "It's bigger on the inside. Now captain, if you would be so kind as to shut the door, we can be off."

"What?" he replied. He could not take his eyes from a bookcase. A bookcase full of books, at the top of a flight of stairs, inside a box that, on the outside at least, couldn't be more than two yards on each side.

"Captain, the door if you please," the Doctor repeated.

He closed his mouth and shook his head before turning around and closing the door as requested.

A sudden babble of voices broke out as all the soldiers talked at once.

"Sergeant," he ordered.

"'Ten-shun," Stanley bellowed. Four men snapped to attention, and their mouths snapped shut, their questions stilled for the moment.

"What kind of place is this?"

"Which one of you lot said that?" Stanley glowered with anger.

"Sergeant," he said, and pointed to the prisoner, Maybach.

"Is this a secret weapon?" Maybach asked in the quiet of the chamber.

"I thought you didn't speak English," he said to Maybach.

"I don't," Maybach replied. "You have excellent German, though."

"What?" he suddenly looked towards the Doctor whose body leant against the table with his head cocked to one side. "I hope you can explain this, Doctor."

"Hmm," the Doctor rubbed the side of his head with a finger. "How can I make it simple enough that even a soldier could understand it?"

He stared hard at the Doctor, eyes narrowed, his fists clenched.

"Where do you get such arrogance from, Doctor? What makes you think you are better than any of the men here?"

"On any level you'd care to name, I'm better than all of you. I've seen more, done more, experienced more and I've lived more."

"That hasn't answered my question," he replied. "Besides, who put you in charge?"

The Doctor did something at the desk. The central discs rotated horizontally, and the whole box made a strange sound.

"Make no mistake, Doctor," he replied. "Once we're out in No Man's Land, if you endanger the lives of Nurse McDonald or any of the men here, I will not hesitate to shoot you."

"Thus showing the soldiers love of dealing out death and destruction," the Doctor retorted hotly.

"No Doctor," he replied, his tone calm and even. "Just a soldier's ability to sacrifice one man for the survival of many."

Their eyes locked. Neither blinked in the silent battle of wills.

It was Nurse McDonald who broke the deadlock.

"Captain, Doctor, please," she said. "There's something out there, something important. Can we not concentrate on that rather than you both arguing about whether the soldier does something good or not?"

"I don't like soldiers," the Doctor muttered, determined to have the last word.

"I don't like Jerries," Jenkins stated from the side of the desk.

Everyone looked at him in surprise.

"Well, I don't," Jenkins continued, as he found himself in the spotlight. "I mean, if they weren't 'ere, there'd be no reason for me to be 'ere, would there? Stands to reason, if they weren't shootin' at me, I'd 'ave no reason to shoot at them."

"I was here two years ago," Maybach announced. "Not far from here, we sang carols to each other. Swapped photos and cigarettes, drinks, food, and little gifts all while we stood in No Man's Land. Each Tommy I met was no different to the men in my own unit. They just spoke a different language, wore a different uniform."

"That's true," Stanley added. "I was at Plugstreet in 1914, and we didn't shoot at each other for a good few days. Live and let live it was. We were all the same, all of us together in the same mud and blood, the shit and the snow."

"To answer your question captain," the Doctor said, breaking the spell. "This is the Tardis. It travels in time and space. Because of that, it can understand all languages. Since you are all inside the Tardis, it is translating everything you hear into your native language. Hence, soldier Maybach thinking you are speaking German and you thinking he had developed a sudden ability to speak English."

"So that wasn't very hard was it, Doctor," he replied with a smile. "Even a simple soldier like myself understood that."

"We're here," the Doctor announced quietly.

Sure enough, the strange humming sound from the box had stopped.


	4. Chapter 3

**Three**

The Doctor pulled something to him. From where he was standing, he couldn't tell what it was. As he contemplated this, the realisation dawned that even if he stood next to the Doctor, he still wouldn't know what the object was.

Whatever the Doctor was looking at, his gaze shifted from the men to the thing and back to the men again. He intended to approach the Doctor and ask what was so interesting when the Doctor flipped the device up and paced around the console.

"What is it?" the Doctor muttered as his fingers tapped the side of his head. "I need a sample, then I can test it. It's familiar but also strange. I can't remember why it's familiar. Not possible. Maybe… no, definitely not possible. Must be something else. Ahh, but what if, just what if. Can I take that chance? Need to find out, for sure."

The Doctor stopped his pacing and faced him for a moment or two. The Doctor seemed to be working toward a decision. Unsure of what he could say in this situation he stayed quiet.

"Captain," the Doctor said at last. "I need to find something. I know I have it somewhere in the Tardis. At least, I think I do. Kindly have everyone ready to leave so we can go the moment I find what I need. Time is possibly running out."

"Okay, Doctor," he replied. "Don't worry, we'll all be ready when you are."

The Doctor disappeared down one of the corridors that led from the room.

"That old geezer's right," Jenkins whispered behind him. "Time's sommat we don't 'ave much of. If we don't gerra move on it'll be the second year running I've missed me Christmas dinner."

"Why, what happened last year, Jenkins?" he asked, curious in spite of himself.

"Well, sir," Jenkins replied. "I were hit in the leg by a piece of shrapnel. Weren't big, but enough to give me a nasty limp. I got sent down the line to the dressin' station. Bit of a muddle there an' I ended up on a train with some lads a lot worse off than me. When we arrived at the rear area, the doctors took a gander an' told me I was fine an' I could go back to me unit. Took me another three days to get back to the lads, course they'd already had theirs. Buggers hadn't left anything over for me. Guess they thought I was 'avin it at the field hospital, in clean sheets, wiv beautiful and carin' nurses all around me."

"So what did you have instead?"

"The usual, sir. Maconochie stew, hard biscuit and petrol-flavoured water. What about you sir, I bet you 'ad some nice stuff for Christmas, seein' as you're an officer an' all?"

"Ha, I wish," he smiled at the memory. "In 1914 I had the usual stuff, in fact, I swapped most of it for some cigars from a German officer. We watched as some men had their hair cut by one of their barbers. Then I sat drinking port with two or three other officers and cheered the boys for trying to have a game of football."

"What? Your lot played a game of footie 'gainst the Jerries, sir?"

"A ' _game_ ' is pushing the definition a bit far, Jenkins," he answered. "There must have been twenty men on each side, and they used an old ration tin as the ball. One of the goals was even on the lip of a shell-hole. There was no referee, and I doubt anyone was keeping score. I suppose we were all just happy to be out of the trenches and not have anybody trying to kill us."

"An' last year sir. Bet you had a slap up meal at Regimental. Roast turkey with all the trimmins." Jenkins' face glowed as he pictured the imagined meal in his mind.

"Jenkins," he replied. "I've no idea where you get these ideas from, but they really are amusing. No, last year I spent four days, from Christmas Eve until the 28th, stuck in No Man's Land."

"Eh? Ow come? What 'appened, er if you don't mind me askin' sir?"

"No, it's fine, Jenkins," he said. "I don't mind." He glanced up and saw the other members of the party listening to him.

"We had two of our guys hung up on the enemy wire. Well, I suppose I hoped that since it was Christmas, the enemy would allow me and a few others to get the poor buggers back. The odds were reasonable they would, I think they were Westphalian or Bavarians. I asked for volunteers to join me and picked four of them. We got forward with no problems.

"When we got there, I found out we hadn't brought any wire cutters. A stupid mistake to make if I'm honest."

"What did you do sir?" Stanley asked.

"Only thing I could think of," he replied with a grin. "I shouted across to the German trenches and asked them if we could borrow a set of theirs." He stopped at the look of incredulity on the faces of those listening.

"What 'append then?" Jenkins asked, his eyes wide.

"Three pairs of wire cutters came flying out of the trench towards where we were. It was a fine Christmas gift, so I rummaged around, and the only thing I had to trade was my hip flask with some brandy in it. I took a little nip, sealed the cap and threw it towards the Jerries.

"One of the men with me, Howarth, recovered a nearby set of cutters, and we freed the two men from the wire. Both were in a bad way, wounded, cold and dehydrated. We looked at their injuries, did what we could and then carried them back to our own lines. Half-way back and some idiot decided there should be no truce here and fired. I'm not even sure which side started it or whether we were even the intended targets. I suppose it didn't matter. Within seconds most of our bit of the front was awake and shooting, soon Whizz-Bangs and Jack Johnsons were dropping all over the place.

"The six of us spent the next four days at the bottom of a shell-hole."

"Six?" Jenkins asked. "Don't you mean seven, sir?"

He sighed. "Howarth didn't make it to the relative safety of the shell-hole, he fell in the initial exchange. Anyway, a bloody machine gun kept us pinned in there for the next three days. One of the men we'd pulled from the wire died of his wounds, there was nothing we could do for him. That hun knew exactly where we were and would not let us out. I don't know, maybe he blamed us for ruining his Christmas." He gave a small chuckle at the absurdity of it.

"Some people," Maybach filled the silence, "they have lost friends, many friends. They can no longer see the enemy as another human being, doing his duty. I have witnessed such people. They mistreat prisoners. They shoot the wounded man crawling back to his own lines. The idea of live and let live is not something they understand. Everything is about revenge. It shames me that not just the Prussians but also some of my countrymen are so."

"We have them on our side too," he answered. "War brings out the worst in people, but somehow, also the best. Though, I fear that this war will have more of the worst to show us. Our governments become more desperate to win, to break the stalemate here in the West. Look at how much has changed in the two years we've been fighting. We're fighting on land, sea, in the air, under the sea, and under the ground. We've used gas, bombs, flame weapons, machine guns, and artillery that hurls death from several miles away. And all the time, we here, in the trenches have so very much in common. The wet, the cold, the mud, rats as big as cats, lice, sickness, shelling, snipers. Need I go on? We seem to be trapped with no idea of how to break the circle of destruction."

"How do you cope with it all, captain?" Nurse McDonald asked, all of a sudden by his side.

"I have my duty to perform," he replied. "There's also my responsibility to those men whom it is my pleasure and privilege to command." He paused as his mouth quirk upwards. "That, and a family tradition of serving the Crown. How could I face them if I didn't uphold the honour of the family?" He looked into her pale-blue eyes. "And what of you, Nurse McDonald? What does your family think of you serving so close to the front line in this war?"

"My father is dead, captain," she replied. "My younger brother died on the first day of the Somme, a victim of the German machine guns. At least, he died with his friends. No more suffering for them, free at last. I had completed my nurse training in the summer of 1915 and was serving in a hospital back home, looking after the shattered soldiers that returned from the front. When my brother died, I applied to come over here and serve at the front. I'm young, but I'm also determined and competent. I was with my mother during the suffragette protests before the outbreak of war. She is worried, who wouldn't be, but also proud of what I am doing here."

"As she should be," he replied. "Your presence in the aid stations, hospitals and other places over here, is a great help to the morale of the men. Seeing something normal, something that can remind them of home, of those they have left behind is a great blessing."

"Captain, I'm not some delicate bauble to be dangled before the mangled and damaged bodies of these brave boys. So you can hope that my presence shames them into withholding their moans and screams of pain."

"That's not what I intended to imply," he apologised. "I meant to state, in my clumsy way, that seeing someone as beautiful as yourself, so close to the front, sharing our hardships… it restores a little faith. That is something that quickly evaporates in the trenches, where all we see is death, destruction and rats. You offer a proof we're not forgotten, that we don't suffer alone. And that people do care about the men here."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she replied. "I guess I'm rather too quick to take such comments as an attack on myself and my gender."

They talked for a while longer, he wasn't sure about what, just remembering that they had. He glanced around and noticed that the others had drifted off while waiting for the Doctor to find whatever it was he needed.

He cleared his throat and rose from the step on which he'd been sitting. "Well, Nurse McDonald," he said. "It was a real pleasure talking to you."

"Please, captain," she replied. "My name is Evelyn Grace. I think you can call me Evelyn."

"Evelyn," he replied with a smile. "And please call me Jack, all my friends do." And giving her a slight bow, he turned and sauntered over to where Jenkins and Stanley were in deep conversation.

Before he reached them, though, the Doctor reappeared holding something about the size of a pistol and pushing it into his jacket pocket.

"Found it," the Doctor announced. "Now, a quick check before we step outside the safety of the Tardis doors." The Doctor took a quick look at something hanging above the circular desk before flipping it back with a flourish of his wrist. "Shall we go, captain?"

"Go where?" he asked puzzled.

"Into the night," the Doctor replied with a smile.

"Sergeant," he called out. "Let's go. You know the drill."

As he watched the sergeant lead the men out of the Tardis, he cast a quick glance at his watch. It read 01:16, it was officially Christmas Day. He exited the wooden box, followed by Nurse McDonald and the Doctor, who turned and locked the door with a standard size key.

Everyone looked at the Doctor. It was obvious that they were no longer in the field that they had entered the Tardis. This had the look of No Man's Land.

"Doctor," he said. "Where, how did we get here?"

The Doctor looked at him as if he was a simpleton and closed his eyes before letting out a very audible sigh.

"Okay, captain," the Doctor answered, "a little Tardis 101."

A minute or so later and he really was none the wiser as to what had happened and how, yet the evidence was before his eyes. And two years at the front had taught him to trust his instincts.

"Okay, Doctor," he said. "Most of what you just said sounds impossible. But here we are, so I guess we just have to accept it. What now?"

"Okay," the Doctor said while rubbing his hands together. "If you would lead us off in the right direction, I'm sure we'll all be back in time for Christmas."

He looked around for a few moments, trying to remember one landmark or other from his last visit to this part of No Man's Land. Fortunately, the distance between the trench lines was almost half-a-mile.

"That way," he said, pointing to their right.

Everyone looked in that direction.

"Sergeant, you have the rear," he ordered. "McGiven, you take the lead. Evelyn, Doctor, kindly place yourselves in the middle of the column. Walk where the men in front of you walk. Stop when they do. Do exactly what they do." He stared at the Doctor, "And try not to make any noise."

As he moved forward to consult with McGiven regarding their direction, he slowed as he came alongside Jenkins. "Jenkins," he whispered. "Keep an eye on the nurse and both eyes on the Doctor. He's a bloody know-it-all and probably won't like getting his clothes muddy. Just make sure he doesn't come to harm or cause any of us to come to harm. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Jenkins replied. "An' 'ere I was opin' for a quiet Christmas by the fire."

"If we find what the Doctor is looking for and get back safely, I'll arrange for a real Christmas dinner for us all."

"D'ya know what he's lookin' for, sir?"

"Not really," he replied. "Whatever it is, it seems to be related to what happened to us… God, was it only a few hours ago?" he shook his head and continued. "Anyway, it's obvious this Doctor fellow is holding something back, he's not telling us everything, that much is certain. So, keep your wits about you near him."

"Don't you worry sir, I'll keep 'im in me back pocket."

The ground was uneven and very muddy, a thin sliver of moon, briefly free of cloud cover, provided minimal illumination for movement. Muttered curses could be heard from behind him as the others struggled through the mud. Off to their left a star shell burst in the sky, throwing stark shadows across the landscape. He heard Jenkins' fierce whisper "Freeze," to Evelyn and the Doctor. This was the most dangerous part now. The instinct was to throw yourself to the ground to reduce the chances of being seen. Yet that same movement might draw an observer's eye towards you with deadly consequences. Old hands at moving around in No Man's Land knew the best thing to do was to stay perfectly still. The harsh light from above created strange shadows and effects on the ground which often meant someone standing still was not seen.

There were several trees nearby that weren't too badly damaged from shelling that should offer a measure of concealment and if needed, protection. Quickly deciding a route, he waited until the last light of the artificial illumination died away before signalling everyone to follow as fast as possible.

As they slowly made their way through fallen branches and trees toppled by shell fire, the Doctor and Evelyn McDonald came to be standing nearby. Finding a convenient spot to rest that offered concealment, yet with a good field of view, he signalled for the others to take defensive positions. McGiven and Sergeant Stanley moved forward to scout the way. Both men flowed over the ground like an early morning mist.

"What are we waiting for now?" the Doctor asked.

"If you must know, we're making sure that the way ahead is the correct route and is also safe enough to risk it."

"We could be there much quicker if we just got up and walked there," the Doctor commented.

"I'm sure you could," he replied. "However I'm also sure that should an enemy patrol be about, they'd put a stop to your nocturnal wanderings without so much as a by-your-leave."

"The captain is correct, Doctor," Maybach added. "My unit makes regular patrols in areas such as this. Prisoners are a prize that the intelligence people would pay for."

"Soldiers," the Doctor grumbled. "Why should I expect anything any different?" Then leant back against the side of the shell-hole and conversed with Nurse Evelyn McDonald.

He spoke for a while with Maybach and having spent time in his company, he found the German to be no different from any of his own men. Tired, though, he soon found his eyes closed and his head leaning back. The Doctor and Evelyn's whispered conversation drifted over to him. Obviously, they were unaware of how far sound could travel on a cold night like this. He was about to tell them to be quieter when he heard himself being mentioned.

"We'll never get there in time at this rate," the Doctor complained to Evelyn.

"It makes sense to take care in No Man's Land," she replied. "Jack told me about some of the things that could happen out here."

"Jack?" the Doctor sounded surprised.

"Oh, we were talking while waiting for you in the Tardis. He said I could call him Jack, all his friends did."

"Captain Jack," the Doctor muttered.

"Yes," she replied. "He's been out here since the beginning. Wounded twice, but has so far survived. I think he doesn't want to abandon his men, he feels responsible for their safety. He seems a decent type."

"That can't be right," the Doctor didn't seem to be in the same conversation as Evelyn. "I wouldn't have forgotten such a thing, surely."

"Doctor, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing my dear," the Doctor replied. "Waiting for the soldiers to stop playing their games is not one of my strong points."

"I don't think they're playing games, Doctor," she replied, a hint of steel in her voice.

"What do you expect?" the Doctor asked, missing the vocal signals that he was treading on dangerous ground. "They're all soldiers. Blindly following each other, nobody actually thinks things through and so they make the same mistakes over and over again, all in the cause of duty. Stupidity more like. Soldiers cannot be reasoned with."

"My brother was a soldier," she hissed.

"And does he enjoy the killing? That's all they know. That's what they do you know. It is their principal function, it's in their job description."

"I don't think Bertie ever got the chance to find out," she snapped. "He died on the first day of his first battle."

"Oh," the Doctor floundered. "I'm sorry about that."

"Are you?" she asked. "I mean he was only a soldier, and only seventeen years old at that. He lied about his age to join up and be with his friends. And he was just one of thousands to die that day and the days that followed. So just how sorry are you, Doctor? These men are risking their lives to get you where you said you needed to be. I think a show of appreciation and respect would be in order."

His eyes opened a crack to see what the Doctor would do next.

The Doctor paused and looked at Evelyn's face. "I find it difficult around soldiers," the Doctor replied. "I've had bad experiences in the past."

"May I suggest that you picked the wrong place to visit if you don't like soldiers then, Doctor," she snapped back.

It was all he could do not to burst out laughing at her reply.

Yet, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Bentwood stiffen, removing all thoughts of humour. Someone, or something, was approaching.

He pointed a finger at the pair of them and signalled for silence. With utmost care, he turned to face the right way and manoeuvred his rifle over the lip of the shell-hole. Bentwood's hand pointed out the area. His eyes stared out, looking for movement, not shapes.

After a moment, he saw it. First one, then two, three, four shapes moving with extreme care towards them. The shapes stopped twenty feet from them and sank to the ground. One lifted its head ever so slightly, and a voice called out in a whisper made harsh with stress.

"Jam."

"Biscuits," Bentwood replied. "Identify."

"Stanley and McGiven with Sharpe and Gilbert," came the response.

Bentwood looked across at him. He nodded to the unspoken question. It sounded like Stanley, it was the right challenge and response, but there was no way of knowing if it was under duress. Another example of why going into No Man's Land was so stressful.

Soon four mud covered individuals slid into the hiding place. It was indeed Stanley and McGiven with Sharpe and Gilbert. A hasty conference took place between himself, the sergeant and the two newcomers. Then he made his way across to the Doctor.

"What's happening?" the Doctor asked.

"Sharpe and Gilbert are two men from my unit," he answered. "They got separated from the rest of their squad when they were out here on patrol. They stumbled across some… bodies, enemy bodies."

"What about these bodies?"

"It looked like they'd killed each other. Sharpe says one had even buried his teeth into the body of another."

"Was there any signs of foaming at the mouth? Were their eyes white?"

"Doctor," he hissed. "What is it you are not telling me?"

"Was there?" the Doctor insisted.

"They didn't stay to look, Doctor. Yet Gilbert swears some of the bodies were unusual. Make of that what you will."

He watched as the Doctor wiped a hand across his brows. Did the Doctor's hand tremble as it did so?

"We need to go to those bodies now," the Doctor instructed.

"What? Not until you tell me what is going on we don't."

"You wouldn't understand," the Doctor snapped back.

"Because I'm just a stupid soldier?"

"Ah, you heard? Well, it doesn't matter. This time, no, not because you're a soldier. The fact is I don't understand it myself. This is like something out of a nightmare. A memory so terrible that it's buried deep beneath all other memories hoping that it would never resurface." The Doctor closed his eyes before continuing. "Captain, I need to make a positive identification of what is causing these deaths. What is changing the behaviour of the men? Is it something you humans have invented for yourselves or is it something foreign? If it's something of your own making, well I think you can clear up your own mess this time. If it isn't, we must see if we can stop it." The Doctor opened his eyes again. "But I can't do that from here. I need to get to the place where the bodies are and start from there. Then trace it back to the source if I can."

"Okay," he said. "We'll make for the scene. But I have to warn you they also spotted enemy patrols in the area. Maybe they were ordinary soldiers, not the raving mad men we've encountered before. But I cannot guarantee that. So for your own safety, the safety of Nurse McDonald and my men, I ask you to please do as we say. When we say it, and not to argue until the danger has passed. Do you think you can do that, Doctor?"

"I can," the Doctor replied at once.

He looked into the Doctor's face and nodded.

"Okay then," he turned to Stanley. "Sergeant, we're going to the location of the bodies Sharpe and Gilbert found. Let's take it nice and steady. Give Private Maybach a weapon, just in case. No shooting except on my order."

It took thirty-eight minutes to reach the area of the bodies according to the frequent glances at his watch. The men formed an effective perimeter around the area as the Doctor bent with intense concentration over the bodies sprawled in violent death.

"Do you have what you need Doctor?" he asked.

"Yes, and no," the Doctor replied without looking up from the body he was examining.

"What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, my dear captain, that I have more information, but not enough to make certain. As always more data is vital to the success of the enterprise."

"Enterprise," he snarled. "We're in No Man's Land, Doctor. We don't have the time to perform full bloody autopsies on these men."

"What's the rush captain? Do you have somewhere else you'd rather be?"

"I'd rather be home in my own bed," he replied. "Yet failing that, anywhere is better than here. In a few hours, our front will be at Stand-To. The enemy will do the same."

"Stand-To?"

"That's when the trenches are fully manned and everyone alert for an attack. They will fire on anything unusual in No Man's Land. I'd class your Tardis as unusual, to both sides. As such I expect both would shoot at it."

"Well, good luck to them," the Doctor replied. "They'll not be able to destroy it, and they won't get in it."

"Neither will we," he replied, teeth gritted. "We need to be either in this invincible box of yours or out of No Man's Land by the time the sentries can see it in the dawn light. I've no intention of spending another Christmas in a shell-hole."

The Doctor looked up at him. "Understood captain. I have enough information to allow us to make the next step in the investigation."

"And?" he asked.

The Doctor stood. "And we can return to the Tardis now."

The journey was a nightmare of caution competing with the need for speed. Go too slow and they may not make the Tardis in time, yet go too fast and the risk of discovery increased with all the dangers that entailed. The moon had once more disappeared behind winter clouds that dropped a light drizzle on everything below, just to add to their misery.

Breathless, edgy, covered in mud and sweating in damp clothing, the weary band trudged into the welcoming chamber of the Tardis.

"Grab a drink and sort your equipment out," he ordered the men. He then followed the Doctor to the central desk where the Doctor was busy twiddling dials and things.

"What now Doctor?"

"I'm feeding the data I collected into the Tardis," the Doctor replied not deigning to look up from whatever he was observing on the console. "The Tardis will then extrapolate the data and tell me where we need to be."

"How long will it take?"

"Captain, it will take as long as it takes. Instead of interrupting me with your unhelpful questions isn't there something else you can be doing? Such as sharpening your knives or polishing your bullets or something."

He stared long and hard at the Doctor before moving to join his men, brushing past Nurse Evelyn on his way.

He looked at his watch for the hundredth time. It hadn't moved, still reading 03:42, when the Tardis made that unusual noise. There was a sudden whump, which reverberated around the chamber and the Doctor looked up from the desk. "We're there."

"Where?" he asked.

"As near as the Tardis could extrapolate the likely location of the source," the Doctor replied. "Shall we go, captain?"

"Sergeant," he called out. "Get the men ready. We're leaving once more."

"Yes, sir," Sergeant Stanley replied and at once got the men organised.

"Doctor, it seems you know the way we need to go, and that presents something of a problem."

"What sort of problem?" the Doctor asked nonplussed.

"It would mean you leading the party," he replied. "However, you have neither the experience nor the skill at moving around here safely. Also, you're the only one who can get us back to our unit in the Tardis. If something happens to you, everything is lost. So I'm tempted to place you in the middle of the men—"

"I do not—" began the Doctor.

"But you won't do that, will you? So you will be behind two of my men, close enough to give directions, but far enough back not to be a danger. You will need to do exactly as you are told. Understood?"

"A danger to whom?" the Doctor's eyebrows raised.

"Everyone," he replied. "Understood?"

The Doctor nodded and walked to the doors of the Tardis. After a quick look around the Tardis, the Doctor opened the door and gestured for the party to leave.

He gave a nod of his head and Sergeant Stanley led the men out of the Tardis.

On leaving the Tardis, the first thing he noticed was the wood sixty yards to their left. There were still trees standing, yet due to the winter weather and shelling, few still had leaves. The ground to the right sloped away ever so slightly. In the distance, he suspected another wood, given the darker aspect that rose from the ground. Besides that, there was nothing of immediate concern in the vicinity.

"Okay Doctor," he said. "Which way?"

The Doctor waved his fancy apparatus around and, at last, nodded his head toward the nearer wood.

"That way captain," the Doctor answered. "I suspect it's somewhere amongst the trees."

"Absolutely marvellous," he replied before turning to Sergeant Stanley. "Okay sergeant, you know what to do. Remind the men to be extra vigilant. I've no idea where we are at the moment."

"Me neither, sir," Stanley replied with a shrug. "Okay you lot, you heard the captain, nice an easy does it."

"Hey Sarge," said Gilbert. "Do we know what we're looking for yet?"

"How old are you son?" Stanley asked.

"Eighteen Sarge," Gilbert replied after a slight pause, worried and unsure if he was in trouble.

"An' they believed that at the recruitin' desk did they?" Jenkins commented with a laugh. The other men in the unit joined in with smiles and guffaws.

He could imagine Gilbert's blush in the dark. Everyone in the unit knew that Gilbert had lied about his age to enlist. The boy hadn't even started to shave yet. Losses being what they were, though, the army had accepted the lad at his word. They had trained him, equipped him and then shipped him off to France as a replacement. A few weeks in the brutality of the bullring at Etaples ensured the replacements, and those returning to the front, were ready for the front line. And then they assigned him to a unit and sent him up the line to join his new comrades. In Gilbert's case, that was five days ago.

"Well, son," Stanley began in his most fatherly tone. "There are only two types of sarges in His Majesty's army. That would be mes-sarges and saus-sarges. The correct form of address is Sergeant, or Sarn't. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sar… geant," Gilbert hastily replied.

"Good," Stanley continued. "Now get yerself fell in and put a sock in it."

The men moved off still chuckling toward the woods indicated by the Doctor.

"Why do they do it?"

Nurse McDonald's quiet question took him by surprise. He turned his head to look at her.

"What, lie about their age?" he asked.

She nodded, her lips pressed together. "This is what it must have been like for Bertie," she said.

"Ah," he replied, then remembered what she'd said regarding her younger brother. "Your brother was in one of the Pals battalions of Kitchener's Army?"

At her nod, he continued. "No, I suspect it would have been different for your brother. The men he joined up with would have trained, marched, ate, slept and shipped together. They would have had a bond that no replacement has in his new unit."

"They also died together," she said, eyes downcast, her face averted.

"Yes, they did. And the army no longer works like that. The downside is that the newcomers have to fit into an existing family unit. Often they don't last long enough to be fully accepted into it."

She turned to face him, a puzzled frown on her face.

"Death is all about us out here," he said. "It is directed, like a sniper's bullet and it is random such as the artillery shell that drops short. The common thread is that someone is dead. Whether you've known that person for years or hours shouldn't matter, but it does. When so many of your friends have died it can become hard to want to know the newcomer, the person taking his place. I suppose that inside you think you're protecting yourself, that it will hurt less if they are the next to die."

"And does it?" the Doctor asked from his other side.

He hadn't even been aware the Doctor had moved to join them. He took several steps before answering.

"At first," he replied. "But there have been so many, it no longer makes any difference. Each one is a painful cut. And a blessing it wasn't me. After a big show, for example, it's even worse. When we're back in the rest area, we have to write the letters to the families of the dead. Once, three of us had to write four hundred and twenty-seven letters in one week. After that, we got absolutely blotto."

"Blotto?"

"Drunk," Nurse McDonald answered the Doctor.

At last, they reached the woods and crept forward.


	5. Chapter 4

**Four**

Sharpe was in the lead with Grant behind him. The remains of the woods made the journey more difficult, especially given the need for extreme care. He cast a glance over his shoulder to check on how the Doctor and Nurse McDonald were coping. They appeared to be doing fine. For an old man, the Doctor was keeping up very well and listening to the instructions from the men.

Instinct made him stop and crouch low. The others followed suit as the men took cover with practised ease. The Doctor and Evelyn tried to peer forward to see what the issue was.

He saw Sharpe make a slight movement with his hand. A glance in the specified direction revealed the now familiar coal-scuttle shaped helmet being worn by the German troops as they crept through the wood. He waited, silent and hopeful that the German patrol would not pass too close to his own men. At the moment, they were moving across his line of march.

"What is it?" The Doctor asked from beside him.

Without turning to face the Doctor he whispered, "German patrol," and then pointed toward the enemy troops.

"Are they the ragin' nutters?" Jenkins whispered from his other side.

"Hardly," the Doctor answered before he had the chance to. "These appear to be men still capable of thought, of fear. These are normal humans, crawling about in the mud."

He cast a quick glance at the Doctor. The man used the strangest turn of phrase as if he didn't consider himself to be a part of humanity. Before he could comment on it, he noticed the enemy patrol come to an abrupt halt. Those in his field of vision settled gradually to the ground.

"Damn," he muttered and hunkered down even more to reduce any profile he may be showing to the enemy.

"What?" the Doctor asked. "That's good, isn't it? I mean, at least, they won't go on a berserk attack."

"It may not be berserk," he hissed in reply. "But if you don't keep your voice down, it may well be an attack."

"If they're reasonable they'll listen to me," the Doctor protested.

"Really?"

"Actually, you're right," the Doctor replied, his enthusiasm for talking to the Germans cooling. "They're soldiers after all. Probably they are no different to you. No, they're bound to do something stupid."

"Unfortunately," he said, "they seem to be moving around our intended destination. We won't be able to avoid them all night. Maybe best to deal with them now while we have the advantage."

"Don't be a fool," the Doctor snapped, his voice raising a little. "Weren't you the one who said any shooting might bring all sorts of trouble down on us? Why can't you just let them go?"

"First," he replied, "I said nothing about shooting them. Second, you'd better believe me when I tell you that they would not pass up on the opportunity to deal with us if they were in our position."

"But you can be better than this," the Doctor pleaded. "What is it about killing that you humans enjoy so much?"

"I do not enjoy the killing, Doctor," he replied, staying calm in the face of such misplaced passion. "Like everyone I have a healthy aversion to being killed, and I don't want to die in this rotten, stinking hell-hole. When it comes to the choice of kill or be killed, well I fought to come into the world, and I'll fight to stay here. Now unless you want that shooting to start now, I suggest you listen for once and kindly shut up."

The Doctor closed his mouth and glared at him with an expression he couldn't read.

The German patrol edged closer toward them in a more sideways movement. It looked as though the Germans were still unaware that his men were in the vicinity. They appeared to be attempting to circle something else, something still hidden from his sight.

Without warning, gunfire erupted from the far side of the German patrol. Several returned fire, others lay motionless in the mud. The German patrol fell back in a calm and professional manner. Shooting as they moved from one piece of thin cover to another, all the time getting that much closer to his own position. Then he saw their attackers and his blood froze. The same mad, berserk types who had attacked him a few hours earlier were firing as they advanced on the German patrol. At the moment that approach was slow and steady.

He turned to the men, whispered a few words of command and then pushed the Doctor deeper into the cover along with Nurse McDonald.

At that moment several things happened at once. Maybach shouted out in German to the patrol, "Kameraden, stay down."

Then the nine rifles within his group opened fire. Each man targeting the infected attackers.

The added firepower from his men was enough to turn the advantage to the German patrol, and soon the berserkers lay dead or dying on the ground. As the echo of the gunshots died away, the area once more returned to the eerie stillness he recognised. The only sounds to be heard in the ruined wood were the sounds associated with death. Either the bringers of death or those busy dying.

As is common, nobody dared to move once they realised there were no more visible targets. He passed the back of his hand across his lips. Now came the difficult, not to mention dangerous, part. The German patrol now knew that armed men were to their right. It was a certainty they believed, for the moment, that his men were another German patrol. But that couldn't last beyond the next few seconds.

He turned and beckoned Maybach over, intending to give him instructions to prevent more slaughter. To his surprise and intense annoyance, though, the Doctor leapt up from behind the cover and made his way toward the dead.

"Identify yourself," demanded one of the Germans. "Halt or we will shoot."

"Blast it," he muttered under his breath.

"Oh, don't mind me," announced the Doctor. "I'm not armed. Just need to check on these men here."

"Stay where you are," the voice commanded.

"Can't do that," the Doctor replied, ignoring the weapons pointed at him. "Time is running out. In fact, we might already be too late."

The Doctor crouched by the nearest dead attacker and pulled the unusual metallic object from his pocket once again. He waved it around over the corpse, much as he'd done back at the clearing station to Cready.

"This is not possible," the Doctor muttered. "It must be a mistake."

A German officer now stood next to the Doctor. "What is not possible? What kind of mistake?" the officer asked.

"I don't know yet," the Doctor replied, not even looking at the German. "And that worries me greatly."

The officer stood staring at the Doctor. Given the relaxed air around the Doctor, more of the German soldiers gathered to stand around the now dead attackers.

"These used to be our men," the officer stated. "Some English weapon has made them mad, so they no longer know friend from foe."

"It's not an English weapon," he said rising from the ground.

The effect was immediate. Weapons shifted to point in his direction, and several soldiers flopped to the floor for more protection. The German officer, a Leutnant by the look of his insignia, turned to stare at him.

Stanley called out from the darkness. "Is everything okay, captain?"

"Everything is fine, sergeant," he called back. "Send Maybach forward, the rest of you stay where you are."


	6. Chapter 5

**Five**

Maybach arrived and identified himself to the German officer. Maybach told the officer of his capture during the night and the nightmare trip back to the English lines. When he recounted the fighting between the lines and the incident involving Cready in the casualty clearing station, his audience looked at each other and nodded.

Maybach then introduced him to the leutnant and explained how he had saved Maybach's life and brought him along to put a stop to this madness.

At this moment, he realised he could understand everything that Maybach and the German officer were saying along with the other Germans in the group.

Meanwhile, the Doctor continued his investigation of the bodies. The metallic instrument was making little high-pitched humming noises as he waved it over them.

"Doctor," he asked. "How is it I can understand everything they say?"

"Mm," the Doctor responded, not looking up from his examination. "Tardis translation, I told you before, but you weren't listening. I don't know why I bother, may as well talk to myself."

"You already do," he replied.

He turned to face the German officer.

"Captain," the officer said. "Allow me to thank you for helping my men against those… things. I am Leutnant Michael Biermann, at your service."

"Thank you, lieutenant," he replied. "But I'm as much in the dark about those things as you are. The one I'm following is the Doctor here." And he pointed at the Doctor, who had just finished whatever it was he'd been doing.

"Doctor," Leutnant Biermann asked. "What can you tell us about these creatures?"

"They're dead," the Doctor replied. "I informed the captain here, that I would prefer it if they weren't all dead. A simple task which he's not yet accomplished."

The Doctor came to stand by the two of them. "Tell me, lieutenant, are there any more of your men patrolling the woods at this moment?"

Leutnant Biermann paused a moment, a frown on his face.

"No, definitely not, of that I am certain. This area is my responsibility."

"Ah," the Doctor commented.

"Why do you ask, Doctor?" Leutnant Biermann asked.

"Because I can see several figures moving towards us from over in that direction."

They turned to look in the direction indicated by the Doctor. Sure enough, moving steadily through the remains of the woods were a larger group of men. He estimated their strength to be between twenty and twenty-five.

"Okay," he said before looking at Leutnant Biermann. "I suggest everyone falls back to our defensive position over there."

Leutnant Biermann nodded agreement.

"Sergeant," he called out. "We're all coming in. Hostiles approaching from the East."

"Yes, sir, understood," Sergeant Stanley acknowledged.

He led the Doctor and the German patrol back toward his own positions. Everyone took cover and prepared for the coming fight. It was evident these newcomers knew where to find them.

He crawled over to Nurse McDonald.

"Evelyn," he said patting a fallen tree trunk. "Stay behind this." He thought for a brief second before handing her his service revolver, staring intensely into her eyes. "If any of them get through, use this. Point it at them, wait until they're a few feet away and then pull the trigger."

"Jack," she said, voice quavering. "Do you think—"

"I think we'll be okay," he replied, calmer than he felt. "But I don't like to leave things to chance. You'll do just fine, trust me."

He found the Doctor nearby. "Doctor if you will not shoot I suggest you stay by Nurse McDonald."

"Captain," the Doctor replied. "It would greatly assist me in my investigations if you could arrange not to kill them all."

"My primary concern, Doctor," he said. "Is to make sure that they don't kill all of us. If I can do that without killing all of them, consider it a bonus."

When the attackers were fifteen yards away, he gave the order to fire. At such close range, it was almost impossible to miss the target, even in the dark. However, it also meant that a few of them may get in amongst the defenders.

Once more he found himself in a surreal fight. Events slowed in his perception as adrenaline flooded his body. The enemy didn't bother with concealment. No thoughts of self-preservation entered their heads. They walked forward firing and, at the last moment, charged to get into hand-to-hand combat.

He fired once and then left the shooting to the men as he kept a watch on the Doctor and Nurse McDonald. She was busy trying to look everywhere. Her head flinched at every crack of gunfire going off near to her. The Doctor, in contrast, appeared calm, disinterested even, in the fight taking place around them. He had the device once more in his hand. Now he'd attached the other object he'd finally found in the Tardis to the instrument. It was now a little bulkier than his service revolver. The Doctor was busy waving this object around as if it was a magic wand or an orchestra conductor's baton.

Three attackers managed to penetrate their defensive positions. One of Biermann's men killed the first. Grant dealt with another one, and the third launched himself at the lieutenant, pinning him to the floor. At which point Jenkins pulled the attacker off the German officer and shouted out to anyone, "Stick the bugger."

A nearby German soldier thrust a bayonet into the attacker's chest, and the body went limp. As the attacker's struggles ceased, Jenkins allowed the body to flop to the ground.

The defenders looked around themselves, dazed at the ferocity of the final attack. All of the attackers had been German soldiers.

Leutnant Biermann pointed out two of bodies lying in the mud.

"These were men from my unit," Biermann said. "They went missing in these woods two days ago. We hoped that they were prisoners."

"I'm sorry, lieutenant," he replied. "I've no idea what is happening to the men in these woods. With luck, the Doctor can help put an end to it."

"Who are you, Doctor?" Biermann asked.

The Doctor pulled out the black note holder and flipped it open for Biermann to read. He wondered what the lieutenant would make of that. To his surprise, Biermann saluted the Doctor.

"I've never met one of the Kaiser's agents," Biermann said to the Doctor. "I only wish the circumstances were different."

The Doctor glanced at the paper in his hand and once again his eyebrows twitched upward as he read the note.

"Well," the Doctor said, "there would be no need for me to be here if it wasn't dangerous, would there?"

"I suppose not," Biermann replied. "And the English?"

"We both have a common enemy here, leutnant," the Doctor replied. "We must put aside our petty squabbles for the greater good. Don't you think?"

He watched as Leutnant Biermann's gazed shifted from the Doctor and met his own eyes.

"I do," Biermann replied, not moving his eyes from his face.

Stanley interrupted their little chat by calling for the Doctor.

"Doctor," Stanley called out. "Got one 'ere that's still alive, for the moment at least."

"At last, something goes right," the Doctor said as he slid and stumbled his way to where Sergeant Stanley stood over the body of an attacker.

He left the Doctor to his business and took a quick look at the group. No casualties and everyone relieved at being alive and well. He checked on Evelyn and retrieved his service revolver from her shaking hands.

"See," he said smiling. "Told you that everything would be fine."

An answering smile came with difficulty to her face.

"Come on," he continued. "Up you get, otherwise you'll catch your death from the cold, and we can't have that."

A genuine smile lit her face as he helped her struggle upright, and looking into her eyes, he gave a little nod.

"You'll do," he murmured and turned to make his way over to Leutnant Biermann.

"Where exactly are we?" he asked Leutnant Biermann.

"Hell," Biermann replied without pause. At his puzzled look Biermann elaborated. "This is the area they send the condemned or those who have, in one way or another, incurred the wrath of their superior officer."

He pulled out a trench map and carefully folded it to cover the small and vague details of his own trench line before presenting it to Biermann.

"Can you show me on this?"

Biermann studied the map for a few moments. "Your information is too good captain," and then pointed to a location on the map. "We are here."

He looked at the location Leutnant Biermann had pointed to and then raised his head from the map to glance around the landscape.

"Shit," he muttered to himself as he folded the map and tucked it away in the inside pocket of his greatcoat. "Thank you, lieutenant," he added. "Let's get everyone ready to move out. I expect the Doctor will want to get where we're going immediately."

"And where are we going?" Biermann asked.

"I've no idea," he replied. "Yet I suspect the Doctor will inform us when he's good and ready."

"Indeed, captain," the Doctor stated, straightening from his latest examination. "Now, we're looking for something underground, I imagine. Anything above ground would be so conspicuous even you lot couldn't miss it."

"I don't know of anything underground," he answered. "We've never penetrated this far into the enemy lines to have noticed anything leading underground."

"We're behind their lines?" Jenkins exclaimed.

At that, the nearby members of his party turned to stare at him.

"We're between the Nancy trench and Nancy support trench, somewhat further north of our own position," he answered. "Whitesheet is on the other side of the larger woods over there."

This simple statement brought astonished murmurs and exclamations from the men. The British army named all known German trenches, both front line and support trenches. This was vital for artillery bombardments and mission objectives.

"Enough," he ordered. "It doesn't matter where we are. We're here to do a job remember. Good."

"The only thing beneath ground level," Leutnant Biermann added, "would be our trench systems. But they are only a matter of a few metres deep."

"There must be something," the Doctor insisted. "Listen carefully. This thing, whatever it is, requires the use of technology so far in advance of anything this planet is going to have in the next 400 years. The only way to hide such a thing would be underground."

He switched his gaze from the Doctor to Biermann and back again to the Doctor. The Doctor clearly believed what he was saying. It was just that nothing he said made any sense at all. He wondered if Leutnant Biermann thought the same.

"Maybe," Nurse McDonald suggested into the silence. "We should find the place where the most of these things are encountered."

"Yes," he added. "It would make sense that if there's somebody else involved here, they would want to protect and keep hidden their location."

"My dear Nurse Evelyn," exclaimed the Doctor. "Thank you for that. You are brilliant. Of course, of course. To prevent their little secret escaping, they infect the soldiers and set them to kill anything they come across. That area of the woods gets a bad name and reputation, and both sides stop sending troops into it. This allows them all the time they need to complete their plans, whatever they happen to be, a win-win situation for them."

"I'm sorry, but that wouldn't work, Doctor," he replied. "High Command do not believe in so-called no-go areas. If such a thing were to develop, they would presume that enemy forces were responsible and were there in strength. A massive artillery barrage would follow and soon enough, we would push men into the area."

"Our generals would react much the same way," Biermann added. "'We are to surrender no ground to the enemy', is a standing order. Massive bombardments and strategic counter-attacks are inevitable."

"Humans," exclaimed the Doctor, as he began to pace, gesticulating wildly. "Why can't you just recognise danger and stay away from it? Why is it that you blindly walk into the places other, smarter races, manage to avoid like the plague?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about, Doctor," he replied. "But the simple fact is that neither side can afford to let the other take control of any area uncontested, especially if it has any strategic value. Besides, both sides have shed too much blood to make retreat a palatable option."

"There you go again," the Doctor continued to rant. "Humans—"

"That's all very well and good," Nurse McDonald interrupted. "But it neither helps us locate these poor things nor prevent any more being created."

"True," the Doctor agreed. "Once again my dear Evelyn, you bring us back to the point at hand. Captain, Leutnant Biermann, do either of you know where the highest concentration of these men is?"

"I've only run into them today," he replied.

Biermann's foot idly moved bits of wood around the ground by his feet, and his head was downcast.

He recognised the familiar signs of an internal struggle in the German officer.

"Lieutenant," he said. "What is it you know?"

Biermann lifted his head and removed his helmet, running a hand through his hair before carefully replacing it.

"There is a section of our line," Biermann said after a moment's pause. "A previous unit stationed there named it, 'The Devil's Arse'. They said men disappeared there never to be seen again, no trace of them found. The rumour was that the English had a secret weapon and used that area to test it out. It became so bad that Divisional Command had the majority of our forces withdraw to a safer distance. Only small parties patrol there now, trying to make the English believe we hold the line as usual. Small units are sent to locate this weapon. The place has a bad reputation. It is not a good place to be."

Biermann paused, eyes darting around as if to reassure himself that it was safe here.

"What else lieutenant?" the Doctor prompted. "What else is there?"

"I remember something," Biermann continued. "When my unit first encountered these… things, some of them were in the uniforms of the unit we had replaced in the line. As I said, wild rumour had it that the English had captured them and then convinced them we were their enemy.

"Then I encountered them myself. Then I saw them close-up for the first time. When I looked into the face of the one who was trying to kill me with an entrenching shovel, I knew. I will never forget the eyes, Doctor. Those eyes convinced me, no hypnotism made these men believe that we were the enemy."

"What about their eyes?" the Doctor asked.

"White," Biermann whispered. "The eyes were completely white. No iris, no pupil, they were completely white. I didn't wonder at the time how they could see, I was too busy trying to stay alive. But I've thought about it since. And Doctor, I can't answer that question. Can you?"

"Cready," he broke the silence. "Myself, McGiven, Maybach and Cready all had white eyes. Yet Cready was the only one whose eyes remained white. Three of us recovered. How did that happen?"

All three of them looked at the Doctor in expectation.

The Doctor didn't answer at once. Instead, he looked at the group of men gathered in the darkness and at the bodies lying on the ground.

"I imagine it has something to do with the level of exposure," the Doctor said at last. "You three had less exposure than Cready and these men here. There must be a balance point at which more exposure makes the effects permanent."

"Yet as Lieutenant Biermann said," he asked. "How do they see when their eyes are white?"

"What?" the Doctor said. "Well, I can't answer it until I find the source. At that point, I'll know for sure."

"We'd better be going then," he said. "Doctor, Nurse McDonald, kindly place yourselves in the middle of the group. Lieutenant, please lead the men off towards this, 'Devil's Arse'. It seems we're going to rush into a place that other races flee from. Whatever that means."

He looked pointedly at the Doctor, who just stared back at him, saying nothing.

Biermann didn't move, he just stood and looked at them.

"Lieutenant," he asked. "Is there a problem?"

"Captain," Biermann answered, his head shaking a little. "We're there. This is 'The Devil's Arse'."


	7. Chapter 6

**Six**

It was slow moving through the ravaged wood. Not only did the random shell-holes, fallen trees, and blasted bits of branches make the footing hazardous, there was also the mud. The cold of winter made the ground rock-hard in places. Yet the mud in this part of the world was deep, and the cold couldn't freeze all of it. Every five minutes or so someone had to be helped out of a patch of mud that had hold of their leg or foot. A journey of fifty or sixty yards could take twenty minutes and leave a person exhausted at the end of it.

Along with everyone else, the sticky mud covered the Doctor and Nurse McDonald. Evelyn had it somewhat easier than the Doctor in that she wore a woollen greatcoat. It was doing its job of keeping her warm, and although the extra mud it now carried added to the weight, once dry the mud would just brush off. The Doctor's tailor-made clothes now looked a mess. At this moment, anyone would be hard pressed to determine the original colour, let alone the style of his suit.

This time, it was the Doctor's turn to get stuck. Jenkins and Bentwood struggled to help him out.

The Doctor looked up at him. "Aren't you going to help them?"

He shook his head. "No, they know what they're doing, unlike some people."

The Doctor grimaced in reply. The Doctor's leg abruptly came free from the grip of the mud with a loud slurp. All three men fell onto their backs.

"Okay, men," he said. "On your feet. Let's go."

The Doctor just sat in the mud looking at his leg.

"My shoe," the Doctor exclaimed. "Where's my shoe?"

Indeed, the Doctor's right shoe was no longer on his right foot.

"You prob'ly left it in the mud," Jenkins answered.

"I left it in the mud," the Doctor's voice got a little louder. "I left it in the mud. It was perfectly fine attached to my foot before you two pudding heads decided to come and give me the help I'd not asked for." The Doctor looked at both Jenkins and Bentwood. "It's your fault. You two have lost my shoe. How am I supposed to walk heavens knows how far with just the one shoe?"

"Maybe take the other one off," Jenkins suggested, his tone reasonable. "You may even get a better grip with your socks if you don't mind me sayin' so."

"Well, I do mind you saying so," the Doctor snapped. "So I suggest you help find my shoe, the pair of you."

Jenkins had been his batman for the best part of eight months, and he knew the man as dependable, experienced, but also literal-minded. Jenkins had the least amount of imagination he'd ever encountered in a person. That made him a great person for obeying orders, but only if it didn't involve having to think for himself.

"Sort it out you three," he said. "You can catch us up if you hurry."

Five minutes later and the three of them had rejoined the group. All three looked displeased and angry, but at least the Doctor was wearing his missing shoe. Jenkins and Bentwood's glances toward the Doctor would have worried other men, yet the Doctor appeared oblivious to them.

"He wouldn't have done it would he, sir?" Jenkins asked him, managing to jerk his attention from the potential problems ahead, back to the problems of here and now.

"What was that?" he asked confused, a normal state when dealing with Jenkins.

"The Doctor," Jenkins replied. "He wouldn't really do what he threatened would he?"

"I've no idea, Jenkins," he replied. "Basically, because you've not said what it was the Doctor threatened to do to you. I admit to being a trifle intrigued as to whether it matches any of the things I've wanted to do to you in the last eight months."

"I don't think it does sir," Jenkins responded with complete seriousness.

"Well, Jenkins, I'm still waiting. What did the Doctor threaten you with?"

Jenkins gulped, straightened himself and looked dead ahead as if making a report on parade to the senior officer.

"Sir," Jenkins began. "I have to report that the Doctor, havin' lost his own shoe in the mud, then threatened the persons of meself an' Private Bentwood to retrieve said missin' shoe. Sir."

"And the threat was?"

"Sir, the Doctor threatened to hit both meself and Private Bentwood with his shoe. Sir."

"Which one?"

"Sir?" It was clear the question was too much for Jenkins.

"Which shoe did he threaten to hit you with, Jenkins?"

"Err, I don't think he said which one, sir."

"Hm, seems to me if it was the shoe he'd lost in the mud, if you didn't find it, he couldn't hit you with it. Could he? And if he'd threatened to hit you with the other shoe. Well, he'd have had to take that off to do so. Which would mean he would be standing in the mud with just his socks on, correct?"

He watched as Jenkins struggled to digest and process this information.

"If the captain says so, it must be so, sir," Jenkins responded at last.

"Well, if both of you are unable to handle a man standing in his stocking feet in the mud, I may just have to reappraise your duties within the company. That's all."

"Yes, sir," Jenkins replied automatically.

He looked around, but Jenkins still hadn't moved.

"Jenkins?" he asked.

"Sir," Jenkins said. "Was that a yes or a no answer, sir?"

He smiled and shook his head. "I'd say it was a yes," he answered. "The Doctor would probably have hit you with either shoe. I think that the Doctor is an unusual person, brilliant, but also extremely dangerous. It's probably best to do as he asks in future."

"Yes, sir," Jenkins replied. "Understood. I'll make sure to do as the Doctor orders in future."

"Probably a wise move," he answered. "Now, go help the Doctor and Nurse McDonald. You and Bentwood are responsible for their safety."

"Yes, sir," Jenkins snapped a salute and left to collect Bentwood and aid the Doctor and Nurse McDonald.


	8. Chapter 7

**Seven**

As they proceeded deeper into the area known as _'The Devil's Arse'_ everyone moved with more caution, heads swivelled from side to side, nerves stretched to breaking point. This was a place of fear for the German soldiers. For the British soldiers, it was the unknown, yet the air in the area had a palpable… something about it. The men constantly looked at each other as if to make sure that everyone was still present.

He looked back to the Doctor who plodded through the mud with all his concentration on the device and little else.

"Well, Doctor," he said. "The lieutenant assures me that just beyond those two tree stumps is the area you are looking for."

"At last," muttered the Doctor. "This would have been so much quicker without so many soldiers in the way."

"This would have been quicker if you hadn't lost your shoe in the mud," he replied.

"Hmpf," the Doctor refused to be baited. Instead, he once more waved around the strange device. "We need to stop so I can localise the readings."

He called a halt and everyone sank to the ground except for himself and the Doctor.

"Just what is that thing again, Doctor?" he asked.

"Captain," the Doctor huffed. "Please don't make a noise, it is annoying and breaks my concentration."

"Will that thing be able to tell if this is the right place?" Evelyn asked.

"I hope so," the Doctor replied. "The sonic screwdriver has a limited range for certain elements. This attachment makes an efficient amplifier. The sonic sends out a signal which the attachment amplifies, strengthening it thus extending its normal range or sensitivity."

Listening to this exchange, he bit his lip. Okay, so the Doctor didn't like soldiers. He wasn't too keen on arrogant, uppity old fossils at the moment either. Given the circumstances, he was being civil. The Doctor didn't even make a pretence of trying to be civil.

"So, you're saying it's a screwdriver," he said.

The Doctor looked at him, glanced across at Evelyn McDonald and pursed his lips before replying.

"This is a sonic screwdriver, captain. That means it works on the principle of sound."

"I understand what sonic means," he replied tartly. "What I don't get, though, is how does a screwdriver work without wood."

"Ah, it doesn't work on wood," the Doctor replied. "No signals to detect."

"What sort of screwdriver doesn't work on wood?"

"A sonic one, okay? Now if you've finished flapping your lips and making a noise, can you please be quiet so that I can determine what my sonic screwdriver is picking up? Thank you."

A smile lit his face as he turned to Evelyn. "Strange," he said loud enough for the Doctor to catch. "Never seen a screwdriver that couldn't work with wood before. How about you?"

"No, me neither," she answered. "But, to be accurate, and fair to the Doctor, a screwdriver works with screws. It's the screws that work into the wood, or even metal."

"Okay, technically you're correct," he replied. "But I—"

"If you two insist on continuing this conversation," the Doctor snapped, "please be so kind as to do so away from here. My screwdr… detector device… thing needs careful calibration and monitoring for it to be of use. And the two of you are not helping."

He caught Evelyn's eye and smiled, jerking his head toward the Doctor who was busy waving his screwdriver around and looking at it every few seconds. She returned his smile with warmth.

He then turned to Jenkins and pointed to the Doctor and Evelyn. Jenkins nodded understanding and took up a crouched position behind them, his rifle at the ready.

As he left them he caught the Doctor muttering to himself.

"Wood, why is it always wood? What's wrong with screwdriver for a name? Had it for almost 2,000 years. It's never been a problem before. If I say it's a screwdriver then it's a screwdriver. Who does he think he is?"

He smiled once more. Despite the situation, things were improving. Evelyn had shown signs of friendly interest, and more to the point, he'd rattled the Doctor.

Several minutes later the Doctor and Evelyn approached with Jenkins tagging along behind.

"There's a strong reading in that direction, it's close," the Doctor announced, pointing to the North.

"Lieutenant?" he asked. "Anything significant in that direction? Or even anything insignificant for that matter."

Leutnant Biermann thought for a few seconds. "Nothing that springs to mind," he said.

"Herr Leutnant," Pepperkampf said. "What about the cottage?"

"Cottage? What cottage?" Biermann asked. "There's no cottage on any of the maps," Biermann added, pulling the trench map from his inside pocket.

"Before things got hot," Pepperkampf replied. "There was a small building in a clearing in the woods. The Prussians turned it into a strong point. One night, a month or two ago, it blew up. Everyone thought that the English detonated a mine under it. Nothing is left but a big hole in the ground now." Pepperkampf looked at the Doctor. "But it's about seventy metres to the north."

"Strange that nobody mentioned this," Leutnant Biermann commented. "It happened before I transferred into the area, but still, why didn't anyone say it before? It's not on any of my maps either."

"We had no reason to go there, sir," Pepperkampf replied. "It's not a pleasant place, sir. If the leutnant had asked, then I'm sure we would have been able to inform him."

"How many people know about it?" the Doctor asked.

Pepperkampf's relief at getting out from underneath the questioning of his officer was apparent.

"Well," Pepperkampf replied. "I heard it first from someone who got it from an unteroffizer who was here when we took over the positions about, oh, five or six weeks ago. But he died two weeks later when an artillery shell hit his trench and we never found his body. There was Hinter, he knew the location, so did Katz, but both of them disappeared." Pepperkampf paused, his brows drawing down, a distant look coming into his eyes. "Stollitz lost a leg and got himself evacuated to the rear area hospital two days ago. Kleine was gassed. Hummels, Brinkmann, Morlitz, Bruin and Neumann are all gone."

Pepperkampf stopped and looked towards the Doctor and Leutnant Biermann. Tears made slow, silent tracks down the mud-splattered face of the young German soldier. "They're all gone. Why didn't I notice?"

"The daily struggle to survive is hard," he told Pepperkampf. "To make it easier to bear, our minds blank out everything except what we need at that moment. Untold thousands have died in the two years of war and each man who survives his friends, his comrades, his family, does whatever it takes to continue to survive." He placed a hand on Pepperkampf's shoulder and looked into the eyes of the young German conscript. "Keep surviving," he continued. "And when you have a chance, remember your fallen comrades. Honour them, mourn them, but most of all, remember them. They will live on in our memories, and maybe, at the end of all days, we'll be together once more."

"What utter poppycock," the Doctor commented. "Dead is dead, nobody comes back. It's not how it works. Soldiers should know that before they get involved in the business of killing. Better yet, they should be—"

He spun around to face the Doctor, eyes ablaze. Without a conscious thought, his right hand had drawn his service revolver and was now pointing it at the Doctor's head from a range of three feet.

"Any more from you," he snarled, "and I'll show you the only soldier you seem to know. We'll see if your screwdriver can do anything about a bullet in the head, Doctor. I will shoot you right here if needed. I wouldn't even need to explain away your loss, hell you're wandering around the German trench area as if you were a bloody tourist.

"How long have you been fighting this war, eh? How often have you gone to sleep, thanking the lord you made it through another night, wondering if the next will be your last?

"Have you ever been thankful that the sniper's bullet took the man standing next to you on the parapet? Or grateful that the shell exploded in another part of the trench than yours?

"When was the last time you struggled in a silent fight of life and death in the mud of No Man's Land? Where men use knives, shovels, bayonets, anything that will kill without making a noise. When did you need to hold your hand over the mouth of some boy to stop him screaming out for his mother as the life faded from his pleading eyes?

"Well, Doctor? I don't hear any answers at the moment. You're oh so glib and confident all the time. Where has it all gone now? No? Nothing? Well, when you're involved in the daily struggle to survive in a world gone mad with war, then, and only then, can you talk to us as equals. So until that time, I suggest you keep your opinions about soldiers to yourself. You're in the wrong place and the wrong time to keep making them. Do I make myself clear?"

His heart pounded in his chest, his lips pressed shut, his left hand shook. He forced himself to breathe out slowly. He took a deep, shuddering breath into his lungs and held it there for a moment. He pulled himself back from the brink of a precipice.

A dozen pairs of eyes watched the tableau before them. Nobody moved. Nobody said a word.

The Doctor stared at him before giving a small nod of his head. "Yes, captain," the Doctor whispered. "Understood. I may have gone a little too far. You have my apology."

"It's not just me your words have insulted, Doctor," he replied, once more in control of himself. "You insulted every man here, on both sides, by your words."

The Doctor looked around the group. All of them were looking at him. All of them with a similar expression on their faces.

"Please accept my apologies. I was unthinking in my words. I will try to make sure it doesn't happen again."

The Doctor appeared to be sincere, so he nodded and holstered his revolver.

"Good," he said. "Now that is cleared up, I think we should be on our way."

"Indeed," the Doctor replied. "We're close to the source of the signal if my reading is correct."

"What sort of signal?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," the Doctor responded. "But it doesn't belong here and now. We should be moving."


	9. Chapter 8

**Eight**

They proceeded north further into the ruins of the woods. The clouds had parted somewhat once again, allowing a little more moonlight to filter through and offer a small measure of increased illumination to aid them in their progress.

"Schloss," he called out to the large German NCO leading them forward. The lead scout stopped and turned to face him, head cocked to one side with an unspoken question. "Pull back," he ordered him. Without hesitation, the man moved back to join the main group.

"Problems?" Leutnant Biermann asked, concerned.

"When isn't there?" he replied with a smile.

Biermann gave a bark of laughter. "Since I've met you and the Doctor, it's been nothing but problems."

"Captain?" Schloss asked on arrival, looking at both officers.

"I don't like the look of that," he pointed down the trail. "Let's not take the risk. We'll find another way."

"What's the holdup?" the Doctor asked as he hurried up through the floor debris and mud. "We haven't got all day you know."

Repeating himself for the doctor's benefit, he pointed down the trail.

The Doctor waved his sonic screwdriver and attachment around for a few seconds, stared at it and said. "There's nothing to worry about."

"Really?" he looked at the Doctor, "Are you sure that thing works?"

The Doctor glanced down at the sonic screwdriver with the amplifier attachment.

"Yes," he replied. "Well, at least I think so." The Doctor gave the sonic screwdriver a little shake and a few taps before holding it close to his left ear. "Yes," he continued, "it's working. It's picking something up, but I'm unsure what it is."

Nurse McDonald looked over the Doctor's shoulder. "Doctor," she said. "The breeze is at our back, isn't it?"

"Correct," the Doctor replied after licking a finger and holding it upright as if to check the statement.

"Then why is that mist coming towards us?"

"What?" the Doctor spun around and looked once more, peering deeper into the gloom. Everyone saw the thin tendrils of mist, or gas, extending across the ground towards them, like slow moving syrup. All this while a gentle breeze was blowing toward it.

"That," said the Doctor, "is not possible."

"There's been a lot of that tonight," she replied.

He couldn't help but chuckle at the expression on the Doctor's face at her remark. "A different way through then," he said. "Lieutenant, if you please."

Biermann soon assigned another of his men to take the lead in moving down a different trail, one they'd passed thirty or forty yards back the way.

"Evelyn, you're very observant," the Doctor said. "You have an inquisitive mind, and you know what you want to do with yourself."

"Why thank you, Doctor," she replied with a smile. "Mother always taught us, my brother and me, to make the most of any talents we have. Anything else would be a waste of the gifts God had given us."

"Whether it was God's gift or you own," the Doctor replied. "She must be proud of you because you are using them well."

"Well, I hope so. After Bertie's death, it was hard on her. But war changes many things. Perceptions, beliefs, emotions, all go into some giant mangle to come out the other side mixed up, torn apart and thrown together." She paused. "Is it wrong to be thankful the war came? Oh, I don't mean the thousands of dead, the wounded and all the suffering. But since the war started, my life has a purpose. I'm viewed as a valuable person in my own right, and not as some flower to be shut away behind glass. Before the war, I, like hundreds of other women, would be stuck away somewhere, wasting our talents. The terrible part is that so many men and boys should perish that my talent should not go to waste."

"Do not blame yourself for the war," the Doctor responded fiercely. "This would happen regardless of anything you did. This whole war is a fixed point in time, like so many other momentous events. You are now rising above it all to help wherever you can. Once it is over, what will you do?"

"Travel, see the world, see other cultures and find out if we can live together in peace."

"A noble aim," the Doctor paused this time. "One I can help you with, should you so desire it."

"Oh," she said, smiling at the Doctor. "That would be nice. But will this ever end?"

"It will end," the Doctor sounded convinced. "There's only been one war that went on forever, and even that ended."

"That makes no sense," she chided the Doctor.

"No, it doesn't. But it is true, none-the-less. Anyway, the Tardis can travel anywhere. When this is over, maybe you'd like to do some real travelling and experience some of the truly different cultures that are out there."

"Oh Doctor," she said. "You shouldn't tease me like that. Please don't make fun of my hopes and dreams."

"Dear Evelyn," the Doctor replied, "I'm not teasing you, nor am I making fun of your hopes and dreams. I'm merely offering you the opportunity to broaden, expand and even realise them. You seem to have a thirst for knowledge, an open mind and a desire to be the best you can be. I admire that in a human."

"Give it a rest, Doctor," he said as he walked past the two of them. "You're old enough to be her grandfather."

"Grandfather," the Doctor exclaimed with injured pride. "I do not look like a grandfather."

He cast a grin at the Doctor as the older man continued to mutter. "I'm old, but appearances can be deceptive. Besides, brains are more important than youthful looks. Grandfather, hmpf."

At last, they arrived close enough to their target area that he needed to think about their next step. Yet he wasn't sure what the next step was. The Doctor would know what that was, and then only if he'd figured out what they were dealing with. Another glance at his watch, 03:47. The drizzle from the low clouds had stopped, yet that did nothing to make anyone more comfortable.

He called the Doctor forward, along with the lieutenant and the two sergeants to discuss the next moves.

"Okay Doctor," he said. "We're here. What's next?"

"No," the Doctor announced, staring past him, over his shoulder. "What are they doing there? They need to stay away. Get them away from there."

As he whipped his head around he saw a group of nine German soldiers move into the area the Doctor had identified as the source of whatever was killing everyone. The Germans walked casually, not behaving as if they were in any danger from enemy soldiers or anything else for that matter.

He turned to Leutnant Biermann. "Lieutenant," he whispered. "Can you identify the unit over there? Any chance you can get them to stop where they're going without having them shooting at us?"

Biermann studied the other group and shook his head. "They're too far away and it's too dark. I can try to call them over, how they will react I cannot predict. With luck, they will come over and not notice you're with us. If they do, I suggest you and your men hunker down and make yourselves less visible."

He thought for a moment yet the Doctor's agitation increased with each step the soldiers took.

"Do something before they get in any further into that place," the Doctor hissed at them.

"Do it, lieutenant," he said before turning to the rest of the men. "Okay men, everyone doggo."

The English troops lay down and hid in the ground, their German colleagues took a second or two to realise what was happening before they followed suit.

Biermann called out to the other troops and asked for their identification and what their purpose in the area was. The nine newcomers stared in their general direction, heads moving as they sought to see past the desiccated trees, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. None of them took up defensive positions or even tried to make themselves less visible.

"Try again, lieutenant," he whispered.

Once more Leutnant Biermann attempted to get the others to come and join them, with the same results as his earlier attempt. The men remained standing, huddled together in a conference.

"Oh my god," Evelyn whispered. "Jack, the mist."

They all looked towards the men. A low-lying mist was snaking its way towards the men. Two tendrils of it split off, one to the left, the other to the right. Both tendrils made wide arcs before moving back inside as if to rejoin the main body. The fog was attempting to surround and cut off the nine Germans standing there.

"Run, quickly," he whispered. "Mist, even gas, doesn't move like that."

The Doctor suddenly stood up and waved his arms in the air to get their attention. "Over here," he shouted. "Run. Run for your lives. Be quick. Stay away from the mist."

The nine men glanced around in confusion. Two of them noticed the mist creeping towards them in the weak moonlight. They shouted something and then fumbled at canisters slung around their bodies. With cold hands, all nine were attempting to pull on their gas masks. As the mist reached them, one of their number dropped his gas mask and bent to retrieve it from the mud.

By now, the mist had encircled the men and had rapidly risen to knee height.

The man without a gas mask straightened, still without his gas mask, and clawed at his face, his hands clasping over his eyes. He staggered around blindly as two of his comrades tried to get his mask back onto him. With a shock, he stiffened, jerked once or twice and with a scream collapsed to the ground.

"Over here, run you idiots," the Doctor called out once again. "This way if you want to live. I can save you, but you have to get to me here."

The figures looked at each other and began to move towards their position. They appeared to be having trouble moving though. The mist was now waist high and getting thicker and thicker with each second that passed. One stumbled on a tree root or something hidden beneath the mud and mist and fell to the floor. When he arose he managed a step or two and then shook his head. His weapon dropped to the floor as both hands clutched either side of his head. A quick flick and his helmet joined the rifle on the floor. Then the man ripped the gas mask from his face with a great gasping cry. He spun about, crashing into his comrades before falling to the ground.

They watched with horror and fascination as the seven remaining German soldiers became engulfed by the mist. He could make out their shapes, writhing within the mist and then, one by one, collapsing to the floor. The mist seemed to settle around the bodies before dissipating as quickly as it had first appeared, to leave nine fresh corpses in the mud.

He turned to look at the Doctor, who was busy waving around his sonic screwdriver, all the time shaking his head.

"Doctor," he said.

"I could have saved them," the Doctor muttered. "I could have saved them."

"Doctor," he insisted. "What the hell just happened? Mist or gas, whatever it was, does not move like that. That did not move… naturally."

"They should have run when I told them," the Doctor was still saying, looking from the corpses in the mud to his screwdriver and back again. "Why didn't they run? They didn't have to die, not like that."

"Doctor," he said. "In stress situations, people do… strange things. They don't always listen to the right advice. Sometimes they don't even know it is the right advice. The thing is those men are dead. They're beyond even your help. We're not, so tell us what the hell it was and how can we stop it?"

The Doctor shook his head and looked at him.

"Doctor," he said once more, this time with more emphasis.

"It seems to be a fast acting agent," the Doctor eventually replied. "There's—"

He looked up as the Doctor stopped speaking and followed the Doctor's gaze. The nine bodies were stirring and climbing to their feet like a Saturday night drunk. Seven of them removed their gas masks and let them fall to the floor. All nine then gazed about themselves as if to remember where they were, or what they were doing there.

Leutnant Biermann called out to them once again. "Over here. Come over here."

The nine looked toward Biermann.

"Oh," said the Doctor quietly, "I don't think you should have done that."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Get your men ready, captain," the Doctor answered. "I believe we are about to be attacked."

"Attacked?" He looked across at the nine men who were now all facing in their direction, arms hanging limply by their sides. "Who by?"

The Doctor pointed across at the nine men. "Them."

He looked again across at the nine in time to see them all give a little shake, the kind you have when ' _someone has just walked over your grave_ '. Several of them bent and retrieved their fallen rifles, but three of them drew their bayonets and moved toward his position. And for a moment so brief he couldn't be sure he'd seen it, he saw their eyes. Eyes that shone with a bright, white light. He may have imagined their eyes, but he didn't imagine the snarls and growls of rage coming from their throats.

Before he could issue orders to the men, bullets smacked into the trees around their position with the flat 'thwack' he'd heard far too often. In a single movement, he spun and pushed Evelyn to the ground and then grabbed the Doctor and rolled him into a depression in the ground.

"Fire," he shouted out.

Lee-Enfields and Mausers began barking their answers at the enemy now rushing towards them. The three rushing out front with only bayonets fell before they had covered half the distance.

The other six were firing as they advanced, yet they didn't stop to aim, instead shooting on the move. One of the six spun around and dropped to the floor as several bullets hit him within a second of each other. Unfortunately, the creature didn't stay down. Swearing and cursing, some words understandable, others seemed to be composed of pure hatred and rage, somehow it struggled back to its feet and staggered forward.

He caught sight of it a fraction of a second too late. Its arm pulled back and then made a forward movement. The stick-like object left the creatures hand and flew towards them.

"Bomb," he shouted and flung himself over the Doctor and Nurse McDonald.

The grenade landed short of their position, but not by much. The dull explosion sent little bits of shrapnel, clods of mud and bits of tree flying over them.

Straight away he shook himself and then raised himself up to continue the fight, but it had already finished. The nine creatures were now corpses once more, the nearest one about five yards away. Assured it was over, he turned to check on the Doctor and Evelyn.

"Evelyn, Doctor," he said. "Are you hurt?"

"No, we're okay," she replied.

"But rather muddier than before," the Doctor added.

"And thankful for you saving of our lives once again, captain," Evelyn said, looking at the Doctor.

"Yes," the Doctor said. "I suppose you need to be alive to worry about mud on your classy suit."

"Jenkins," he called out and added once Jenkins arrived. "Look after them." He turned to the Doctor and Evelyn. "I need to make sure everyone is okay," he said. And with that he left them to the tender, if unimaginative, mercies of Jenkins.

He returned a minute later, his brows drawn together.

"Evelyn," he said, "We've got two casualties. Would you consider looking at them to see what you can do? There's no field hospital or anything, but… well, could you please?"

She rose without hesitation. "Certainly, Jack," she said. "It would have upset and insulted me if you hadn't asked. Show me where they are."

He took her over to one of the Germans.

"This is the more severely wounded man," he said.

The soldier lay on his back, his head resting on a fallen branch. All of his equipment was already off him, his overcoat and the uniform jacket both open.

She reached inside the bag she'd brought containing the medical supplies and groped around for a moment. She found the set of stethoscopes and put one end to her ears and the flat end against the man's chest. Someone had already placed a field dressing on the chest wound, unfortunately, blood was visibly seeping through. The man's breathing was shallow and laboured, his lips turning blue, his eyes half closed.

She removed the stethoscope from her ears and placed it back in her bag. She looked up at him, and then the Leutnant.

"His left lung is punctured," she said. "It's slowly filling with blood. And there's nothing I can do for him."

Leutnant Biermann nodded acceptance of these facts.

"Thank you, nurse," Biermann said. "He came to the unit a few months ago as a volunteer from a protected occupation. I think that perhaps he should have stayed at home with his wife and children."

The man was murmuring in his pain.

"What's his name?" she asked the Leutnant.

"His name is Emmanuel Jakob Weiss," Biermann responded.

"Lieutenant," he said. "Take care of your other man. I'll stay here with Nurse McDonald and Private Weiss."

Biermann nodded, rose from his position and then saluted him. He returned the salute and watched as Biermann left to attend to one of his men who was beyond needing the ministrations of Nurse McDonald.

"Emmanuel," he heard her say. "It's okay. Everything will be just fine."

"Magda," Weiss whispered from the ground. "I've missed you these last months."

She shook her head, not sure what to do or to say. She looked up at him for guidance, but he could only shrug his shoulders. He looked across at one of the Germans standing nearby, Pepperkampf and raised his eyebrows.

"That's his wife," Pepperkampf said. "He has two children also, Friedrich and Else."

She smiled and mouthed a ' _thank you_ ' in return.

"I'm here, Emmanuel," she said.

"How are the children?" Weiss gasped out.

She swallowed hard. "Friedrich and Else are fine. They're waiting for you to come home to them."

A cough racked his body. "I'm not sure that will be possible. Tell them I love them, always have and always will. Do that for me please."

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"I will," she replied.

"Magda," the voice barely a whisper. "I love you so much and I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," she replied, her own voice choked with her tears.

"I'm sorry."

She looked down into his open eyes to see the last light of life leaving them.

"Rest in peace," she said as she closed his uniform jacket and overcoat around him. "Nothing can hurt you anymore. At last, you have peace."

She stood and, turning, almost collapsed. As he caught her, she flung her arms around him, her grip tight and desperate. Face buried in his muddy overcoat, silent sobbing wracked her body.

After a moment, she pushed herself away from him and wiped her eyes dry.

"It's different," she said. "This time, it's not some stranger. This time, it's someone I knew, someone who died trying to protect me."

He looked down at her face. White patches of clean skin showing through the dirt and mud smudged cheeks.

"That was one of the bravest things I've seen, Evelyn," he told her. "It would have been so much easier to hold his hand and let him slip away without answering him, without giving him any sense of completion. I'm not sure I could have done it."

"Ma'am," Pepperkampf added from behind her. "Thank you for what you did for Mani. The boys want to thank you for that great kindness. Believe me, nobody here wants to die alone."

"But I lied to him," she said, shaking her head.

"No," Pepperkampf's gentle voice replied. "You gave him what he needed. Before he died he got the chance to tell his wife and kids he loved them and was sorry. If he was looking down on us now he would be grateful for that. Thank you once again, from all of us."

Biermann arrived back with Gilbert in tow. The underage private Sidney Gilbert was small, thin and always smiling. Although something had put a dent in his smile at the moment.

"It's done," Biermann announced. "Unteroffizer Schloss has his personal effects and burial record. Private Gilbert here is injured but will survive his wound."

"Thank you, lieutenant," he replied. "And once again, I'm sorry for the loss of your men."

Biermann gazed pensively up at the night sky. "Strange, no truce this year, yet here we are on the same side, not killing each other. Instead, we are both fighting something we don't understand, something that is killing our men. If those in charge knew what was happening here, would they stop the war and join forces to rid the world of this common threat?"

"I can only hope so, lieutenant," he replied. "At the moment, it makes far better sense than shooting at each other." He turned his attention to Gilbert, still standing there.

"Well, Gilbert," he said. "What did you do this time?"

"It weren't me this time, sir," Gilbert replied. "That bomb at the end, sir. Well, it did for Grossmann, an' his bayonet sliced me one as he went down."


	10. Chapter 9

**Nine**

Private Gilbert had a nasty gash along his left forearm. Nurse McDonald soon had him sat down while she did her best to clean the wound with water from her canteen. Once satisfied, she applied a field dressing to the wound and bound it tightly.

"The wound will burn and itch," she told the private. "That means it is getting better. Let me know if the bleeding hasn't stopped within half an hour, or if you feel feverish or faint."

"Yes, ma'am, I will," Gilbert replied. "Ma'am?"

She looked up at the young private. Gilbert's eyes cast a quick, furtive glance in his direction before returning to Nurse McDonald.

"What is it private?" she asked.

"Well, ma'am," Gilbert blurted out. "I was wondering if you would give me a chit. You know, so I'd be exempt from everything apart from light duties. Like on account of me being wounded in action an' all."

"Gilbert," he interrupted, "we're behind enemy lines, about to enter the lair of something we're not even sure we can destroy. Light duty is the least likely thing that you will receive."

"Ah know that sir," Gilbert responded. "But, you know, when we get back to our lines, sir. Well, I'd need to be on light duties then, wouldn't I? Jenkins said I needed to get a chit, sir."

"I like your optimism, Gilbert," he replied, "but this is a medical matter."

Gilbert looked once more to Nurse McDonald. "Ma'am?"

"Ah, I'm not sure I can help you," she added. "I'm a nurse, you need a sick chit from a medical officer, a doctor."

"In that case, maybe I can help," the Doctor's voice sounded from behind her.

"Sir?" Gilbert looked at him.

"Why not," he replied, "he's not a doctor, Gilbert. He's the Doctor. There's only one of him."

"How true," the Doctor said under his breath. "Now do you have a piece of paper?"

The Doctor soon had the paper and pencil and was busy scribbling a note which he then signed with a flourish.

"There you go my boy," the Doctor said as he handed Gilbert the piece of paper. "If anyone doubts the validity of it, they can take it up with the president."

"President?" he asked. "Don't you mean the king?"

"President, queen, king, all the same to me," the Doctor replied nonplussed by it.

Gilbert put the valuable piece of paper into his top left breast pocket and gave the Doctor a parade ground salute. The Doctor's nod he received in return was more in line with their current location.

"Okay Gilbert," he said. "Best stick with McGiven and Jenkins for now."

As Gilbert sauntered off to find McGiven or Jenkins, the Doctor turned to them all and rubbed his hands together.

"Now, let's decide how to finish this."

There were six of them, including the Doctor, crouched in the mud discussing the next steps to take. He looked at each of them.

At his side was Nurse Evelyn Grace McDonald, their very own Florence Nightingale. He still didn't understand why the Doctor had insisted she come along with them, yet he was intensely glad she was here, despite the dangers of the situation. Had the Doctor known what would happen in advance or was it a lucky decision?

Next to her crouched Sergeant James Oliver Stanley, a veteran of the Boer Wars with a lifetime of experience behind him. Stanley was another Old Contemptible, one of an ever-dwindling band. A man of few words who could be relied upon to get the job done, whatever it took.

Standing next to Stanley was Unteroffizer Willem Augustus Schloss, the large NCO from the German unit. Schloss looked to be younger than Stanley, but not by much. They were both cut from the same cloth. It made him smile to have met the German equivalent of Stanley.

On the other side of Schloss stood Leutnant Michael Biermann, who had already proven himself a capable officer. Although two years younger than his own 26 years, the lieutenant was someone he felt confident about.

Finally, standing between Biermann and himself was the oldest, and oddest, member of their group. The Doctor seemed to be once more full of life and energy, his confidence having returned within the last few minutes. His once immaculate dark suit now rumpled and covered in mud and his shoes appeared a good three sizes bigger due to the mud sticking to them. The Doctor's wet hair lay plastered to his head, and mud splatters liberally covered his face.

"Now I have everyone's attention," the Doctor began. "I'd like to outline the plan."

"Just as a matter of curiosity," he asked. "Who put you in charge?"

The Doctor avoided answering the question by the easy expedient of ignoring him.

"As I was saying, the plan. All of us heading into the dell over there would be a big mistake. I need to go in there with you, captain. And I'll also need Evelyn. Lieutenant Biermann, will take charge of the others and secure this pathway as our exit."

Almost at once, everyone started talking at the same time. He couldn't hear what others were saying as he was too busy arguing about the need for Nurse McDonald to go with them.

"Five humans together," the Doctor stated. "Five humans together and none of them can agree on anything."

The babble died down as the words registered on each person present.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"Why am I never surprised?" the Doctor replied. "Somebody makes a sensible decision, and you humans will always argue about it. Shout and posture until you eventually come around to the fact the first decision was correct. For once I wish you'd see that at the beginning and use the time we'd save for more important purposes."

"Okay professor," he said. "What are we to do if we encounter any more of those men while we're in that place?"

"I doubt we'll come across any more," the Doctor replied. "One property of the gas seems to be that those infected will attack the nearest thing, quite possibly even one of their own kind. I don't see how any could survive long enough further in to be a threat."

"And are you willing to bet your life, and more to the point, the life of everyone else, on that assumption, Doctor?"

"I know what I'm doing," the Doctor said. "There will be little to no threat from the infected further in. That is why you're coming along, captain."

"And what if we come across any of the non-infected?"

"What do you mean?"

He pointed at the nine bodies lying not far from their position. "Not too long ago," he said. "Those nine corpses were ordinary men going about their duty. Need I remind you we are behind the German lines, Doctor? It's not only the victims of this gas we need to worry about."

"But don't you see it? Those men attacked us because they became infected," the Doctor responded, exasperation evident in the tone of his voice. "As I've said, the chances of coming across anyone infected is remote in the extreme. Don't be blind as well as stupid."

"Doctor," he snarled. "Before those men became infected, they were nine ordinary German soldiers. Moving around in this wasteland, behind their front-line trenches during a war. Can you guarantee me that we won't come across another German patrol, or, God forbid, that they stumble across us first? Because my worry isn't for these crazies, it's the for the regular soldiers going about their daily business of dealing death. Are you going to protect us from them? And should something happen to me in there, who will protect Nurse McDonald and yourself?"

He had to give the Doctor credit. At least the man paused and thought for a moment over what he'd just said.

"Okay," the Doctor announced. "We'll take one more." The Doctor looked at him and continued. "I still don't like soldiers."

Leutnant Biermann spoke up. "May I suggest, captain, Doctor, that you take Unteroffizier Schloss? He is very experienced and will not let you down."

That started the arguments once again as Stanley piped up. "What about me then? I'm experienced too, plus I've got experience of working with the captain. Isn't that right, sir?"

"That is correct, Stanley," he replied. "Though, to be honest, Unteroffizier Schloss has one thing you do not."

"Sir?" Stanley asked.

"Sergeant," Biermann answered for him. "Schloss is a native German speaker. Should you come across a German patrol, he could talk for you and hopefully prevent bloodshed."

"The lieutenant is correct, sergeant," he added. "Besides, he will need your help with the rest of the men. You may also come across another patrol, I doubt if anyone from our side would be found back here though. We're all in this together. It seems the only way any of us will be safe is to work together."

"If the captain says so, sir," Sergeant Stanley replied. He was too good an NCO to argue further.

"I'll be glad of your help, sergeant," Biermann added. "We need to make sure that when they return, there is a safe passage for them to use."

"Right you are, lieutenant," Stanley said and settled back down.

The Doctor continued then to outline his plan. Although to be honest, he thought that _plan_ was a very loose description of what the Doctor proposed. The plan amounted to going in, find whatever is responsible for the gas, stop it and then coming out again. Used to the meticulous planning of trench raids, night-time patrols and not to mention the big shows, this scarcity of detail left him more than a little concerned.

Biermann looked up at him on realising this was as far as the Doctor's plan went. He gave a half-hearted smile in response. At least Biermann's look showed that he too expected more thorough planning.

"Lieutenant," he said. "Jenkins is a good man, despite a tendency to take things a little too literally."

"I'll bear that in mind," Biermann replied. "Good luck, captain. Also to you too, Doctor, Miss McDonald."

"Sergeant," he asked. "Can you arrange for several Mills bombs? They may come in useful. Make sure to leave yourselves with enough."

"I'll see to it myself straight away, sir," Stanley replied and headed off towards Bentwood and Sharpe.

A few minutes later and the sergeant handed him a small canvas bag. On opening it, he found six Mills bombs inside.

"They're all primed with a 5-second fuse, sir," Stanley informed him. "And there's also another five magazines for your rifle in there too, sir. Just in case. Good luck, sir. Don't do anything rash."

"Thank you, sergeant," he replied. "And I'll try not to. Listen to the lieutenant. Biermann seems to be a good officer, and he knows what needs to be done."

Stanley saluted and went back to the men.

Biermann was making sure that Schloss had everything he may need. A long canvas bag was slung over the front of Schloss' tunic. He guessed that too contained several stick grenades. Schloss had his Mauser rifle slung over one shoulder and a Mauser pistol in his waist belt. As he watched, Schloss slipped a trench knife down the inside of his right boot until only the handle was visible.

He turned to Nurse McDonald and walked around her slowly, his eyes moving up and down her body, taking note of what she was carrying and where it was. He tightened the belt around her waist, and the chin strap on the helmet she'd borrowed back at the casualty clearing station.

"Do you still have my service revolver?" he murmured.

Her hand fumbled about in the large pocket of her greatcoat.

"No," she replied. "You took it back after the big fight."

"Oh god yes," he said. "That's right."

He pulled the revolver from its holster and handed it over to her once again. Her hand quivered slightly with the weight of the gun.

"I'm still not sure about using it," she said.

"While you have it," he replied, "you have a choice. When you don't have it, and the other side won't listen to reason, that's the time to worry. I've always found its .455 calibre business end to be a convincing argument when needed."

She answered his smile with one of her own.

"I sincerely hope you don't need to use it," he said. "But I could not live with myself if we encountered more of these crazed creatures, and they got to you when you were unable to defend yourself. So please think on that as you struggle to decide whether to use it or not."

He turned to face the Doctor.

"What about you, Doctor?" he asked. "Still refusing to accept something to defend yourself with?"

"I have my intelligence," the Doctor retorted. "I see no reason to go around killing things."

"Yes," he replied. "Of course, I suppose you could always hit them with your shoe or a spoon if they get too close."

The Doctor smiled at his little dig.

"At least nobody ever died from being hit by a shoe."

"That may depend on what was in it at the time," he responded. "Also, where the person was. In fact, a whole collection of circumstances could lead to somebody in fact being killed due to being hit by a shoe."

"Captain," the Doctor said. "Please don't try to stretch your imagination. As a soldier, you're not supposed to have one."

"Fine," he replied. "Then I suggest we make a move otherwise Christmas will have gone, and we'll still be stuck out here."

"Okay," the Doctor replied. "But before we go, I need to give the rest of the men some instructions. Would you call them over here for me, please?"

Once the men gathered around him, he explained that the Doctor had some last-minute instructions to give to them. Everyone looked at the Doctor in anticipation.

"It's quite simple really," the Doctor told them. "This appears to be a sentient gas. That means it's alive. It has a purpose, a behaviour pattern. Should anyone notice the gas, on the ground, in the air, I suppose it could even be at tree height, you must alert the others. The next thing is to make sure the gas doesn't come into contact with any part of you. The gas seems to infect on contact. As we've seen, gas masks are no protection against it, since it doesn't choke or poison its victims. My suggestion is you leave the gas masks off so you can see and communicate better.

"Now, it's not fast moving, especially if it's going against the wind. So that means you should be able to outrun it. But remember, it is alive. It can think, and it will try and trap you, cut you off from escape routes, just like it did to those men back there.

"We will stop whatever is giving the gas direction. Once we break that link, the gas should then behave just like a gas. It may still be deadly, but it shouldn't be able to hunt you down anymore.

"So, gentlemen, please stay out of the gas and stay alive."

"Thank you, Doctor," Leutnant Biermann replied. "Good luck and we'll keep this path open for your return."

Biermann saluted them, and all the rest followed suit. He returned their salute.

"Oh stop it," the Doctor said while shaking his head.


	11. Chapter 10

**Ten**

They walked in single file down the barely visible trail. Now and then they had to detour around trees that had fallen due to large explosions, their branches scattered about the place.

In the distance, he could hear the sound of artillery. A glance to the north would occasionally show the skyline lit by an artillery battery sending its Christmas greetings of death and destruction.

Unteroffizier Schloss was leading the way, his body hunched over, rifle held at the ready. His helmeted head moving slowly from right to left in the never ending search for anything out of the ordinary.

The Doctor walked behind Schloss, the sonic screwdriver, plus attachment, waving to the left and right in his hand. Every so often the Doctor would give a minor course correction to Schloss, who would glance back at him for confirmation.

Most of the time they stayed on the worn trail, despite the Doctor's insistence they should be a few yards over to one side or the other. The way he looked at things, following the trail was keeping them in the general direction the Doctor wanted, even if it was a little longer. The Doctor had argued about this earlier on the trip, insisting that the direct route was quicker. He'd replied it was in all likelihood a quicker way to death. Someone had passed along the trail recently, but that also meant it was unlikely to contain traps. Added to which it generally gave a wider field of view. Which reduced the chances of stumbling into another patrol, or the gas.

He wasn't sure if the Doctor accepted his arguments or not, and since Schloss followed his lead, it was irrelevant as they stayed on the trail.

Nurse McDonald was in front of him. He watched her as she slipped and struggled her way along the muddy trail, blindly following the Doctor. And for what? What had the Doctor awoken in her that led her to come along on what he realised was a potential suicide mission? For that matter, what was he doing following the Doctor so blindly? That thought led his eyes once more to the Doctor.

"How much further, this time, Doctor?" he asked once again.

"Oh, we're very close now," the Doctor replied staring down at his sonic screwdriver.

"As close as we were ten minutes ago? Or closer?"

"I shall not bother to answer that question, captain," the Doctor replied. "Since it needs no answer."

"Yet you just have," he replied smiling.

"Let us say I'm indulging you this once."

"Boys, please," Evelyn gasped out. "Enough, you've been at it for the last several hours."

"Impossible, we've only been going for forty minutes," the Doctor corrected her. Then snapped his mouth closed as he caught the glint in her eyes, and the set of her mouth.

"Do you need to take a rest break?" the Doctor asked her.

"I'm fine," she snapped back and pushed her way past the Doctor closer to Schloss.

He smiled at the expression on the Doctor's face.

"So Doctor," he asked. "Just what are you, really, and how old are you?"

"I didn't say," the Doctor responded. "What is the matter with Evelyn, Nurse McDonald?"

"Stop trying to change the subject. I'm sure I recall you mentioning something about you having your screwdriver for 2,000 years. Also, you keep referring to us as humans. That is not the behaviour of someone who is even remotely eccentric, but human. So, what are you? Martian?"

The Doctor looked at him, keenly. Those grey eyes flicking over his face before coming back to stare into his own eyes.

"Why is it always Martians with you people?" the Doctor asked. "Of all the species in the universe, why do you lot always assume it's the Martians? I mean, what did the Martians ever do to you?"

Deciding that this was a genuine question, he answered the Doctor.

"Well, in H.G. Wells' story ' _The War of the Worlds_ ' the Martians invaded the earth. When I first read it I marvelled at the author's depth of imagination. In my youth, I used to love reading his stories, and those of authors such as Jules Verne. In fact, when I first entered the Tardis I was sure it was something out of a Jules Verne novel."

"Really?" the Doctor exclaimed, "I'm surprised you would have read such works."

"Why? Because I'm a soldier?"

"Yes, I mean no," the Doctor contradicted himself. "It's just that such stories require an active imagination to understand and view the distinct possibilities of other realms outside of the commonly accepted experience. And in my experience, killing doesn't require much in the way of imagination."

"I have an excellent imagination, Doctor," he replied as his head bent to stare at the floor. "Sometimes it's too good. I can imagine the bullet that strikes me in the head. I can imagine the shell landing beside me, to leave nothing for my mother to mourn over at an empty graveside. Worse still, I can imagine the gas creeping its way insidiously into my throat. Burning my lungs from the inside until I drown in my own blood. I can imagine losing my sight, or my legs, to then be dependent on others for the rest of my life.

"I have imagination, Doctor, though sometimes I wish I hadn't. And because of that imagination, I can imagine you are not what you claimed to be when we met you."

"Oh, wait a minute," the Doctor insisted. "I'm nothing I haven't claimed to be."

He smiled at the Doctor as the thought struck him. "That's right, isn't it? At no point have you ever claimed to be one of us. All you've done is said you're the Doctor. Everything else you've left to us to fill in. So tell me now then, Doctor. If you are not human, what are you?"

He could see the Doctor thinking about whether to answer the question. And if he should answer, should it be truthful, or lies?

"I'm a Time Lord," the Doctor finally answered. "And I've been alive for over 2,000 years. Satisfied?"

"Yes," he replied, smiling. "Very."

"What are you smiling for?" the Doctor asked. "Why that smug look all of a sudden?"

"Oh, nothing," he replied.

"That look is not a nothing look," the Doctor countered. "That is definitely an ' _I know something you don't know_ ' kind of smug look. I told you, now you tell me."

"Okay then," he said. "I find it reassuring, in a nice way, that someone over 2,000 years old knows so little about women."

"What do you mean?" the Doctor asked, confused.

"'What do I mean?' Doctor, for someone who's supposed to have been around as long as you have, how could you not realise how Evelyn would react? You're either completely at a loss when dealing with humans, in general, or you simply don't understand females. So tell me, are there any female Time Lords? What are they like?"

The Doctor's eyes shifted from his face, lost focus and took on what men at the front called a ' _thousand-yard stare_ '.

"No," the Doctor replied. "There are no female Time Lords, not anymore. I'm the only one."

"I'm sorry," he replied, "I didn't know. It wasn't my intention to cause you pain."

"Captain," the Doctor said, "I've lived with this knowledge for hundreds of years. There's nothing wrong with your words or your intentions. However, I seem to have offended Evelyn, perhaps you could put things to rights with her."

"Ha, who said I know any more about women than the average man in the street? Besides, I've spent the last two years so far removed from female company that I fear I'm no more competent dealing with them than you are. Perhaps they are the alien species living amongst us, eh?"

"It could well be so," the Doctor said with a smile. "It's definitely an interesting supposition, that's for sure. One it's probably best not to broach with her, though."

"Despite being a soldier, Doctor, I am not that stupid. But I'll see what I can do," he said and left the Doctor and approached Nurse McDonald.

"Schloss," he called out quietly. As the German turned around he continued. "Take a break, 10 minutes to get our breath back."

Schloss nodded his understanding and sank down to the ground, taking position behind a convenient fallen tree.

Evelyn McDonald turned around as Schloss stopped and faced him, a hard set to her eyes and mouth suggested to him that she was still angry with the Doctor. And that this anger may well fall upon himself if he wasn't careful.

"Captain," she said. "I'm not in need of rest. I can keep up with you. There's no reason to slow down or stop on my account."

"It's not on your account," he replied. "In case you haven't noticed, the Doctor is an old man, and I still suffer on cold days from the effects of my last wound. I'm no use to anyone once we get there if I can hardly move."

"Oh," she said in shock. "I'm terribly sorry. I wasn't thinking. Is there anything I can do to alleviate the pain?"

"There is," he replied. "But here is hardly the place."

"Captain," she exclaimed startled. "I'll have you know I am not that type of girl."

"What? No," he pleaded. "That's not what I meant, honestly. I only intended to suggest that you allow me to buy you a dinner once we're back safely behind our own lines."

But it was too late. Nurse Evelyn Grace McDonald, former suffragette and a young believer in women's rights, now sat on the floor, arms folded tightly around her. Her head deliberately turned away from him.

He shook his own head and returned to where the Doctor sat against the remains of a tree.

"It would appear," the Doctor commented. "That you understand human females as much as I do."

"Definitely another species," he said darkly. "I just thought that maybe she'd like dinner with me. I didn't even get the chance to—"

The Doctor rose suddenly, looking around, his screwdriver in his hand waving around in a circle.

"We need to move," the Doctor ordered. "We need to move now."

He jumped to his feet also and looked around them.

"There," he shouted, pointing at a tree stump twenty yards away. The gas was flowing out of the top of the tree stump and pooling around the base.

The Doctor took a quick peek. Examined his screwdriver. Spun quickly around in a full circle and then pointed off to the left.

"That way," the Doctor shouted. "Quickly run. There's no time for sneaking, we need to run."

The Doctor shot off running as best he could in the mud through the mass of shattered trees. Schloss followed, trying to keep the Doctor in view and within reach.

He strode over to Evelyn and jerked her upright, pushing her in the direction the Doctor had taken.

"Run Evelyn," he called out. "Run for all your worth. I'm right behind you."

She looked at the gas still collecting around the tree stump. Her mouth was open, her eyes wide and staring. He gave her a gentle push, just enough to break her out of her shock.

"Run. Now," he ordered.

The next minutes were an absolute nightmare. The gas followed, never gaining on them, but also never falling behind either. Each change of direction the Doctor took them down, eventually, the gas would appear before them, blocking their exit. As they changed direction, the gas would follow along, not closing in, but cutting off that path as a choice for them.

"Doctor," he gasped out. "Stop."

The Doctor turned and faced him. "We can't stop. Have to keep moving. Will catch us… if we stop."

"We're being herded, Doctor," he said. "See, the only path open to us is straight ahead. Why hasn't it attacked? What's down there?"

The Doctor looked around and saw the gas behind and on either side of them. In all instances, the gas was no closer than ten yards.

"You may be right, captain," the Doctor said. He took readings from the clear direction with his sonic screwdriver. "The readings are stronger down there, anyway. It appears we're being invited along for a meeting."

"Dare we go?" he asked.

"The question is, dare we not?" the Doctor replied. "Besides, I think our host may be getting impatient."

He turned around to see what the Doctor meant and saw the gas that was behind them slowly moving closer.

"You're right, Doctor," he said. "Anyway, mother always thought it bad manners to keep the host waiting."

This time, they walked rapidly along the open path. When one of them slipped, and the others stopped to help them up, the gas also stopped. It was behaving much like a trained guard dog. Not getting too close to the prisoner, but making sure the prisoner had no chance of getting away, all the while herding the poor wretch toward its master.

He suddenly stumbled on a piece of masonry that stuck out of the mud. He stopped walking and examined the ground.

"Doctor," he called out. "This could be the place Private Pepperkampf told us about, the cottage."

The Doctor looked down at the half-buried ruins scattered about the place.

"Sergeant Schloss," the Doctor said. "Is this the cottage? Is this the place that disappeared in the explosion?"

Schloss looked around uncertainly.

"It could be," Schloss said. "But I've lost my bearings with all the running and changing direction. I can't say with one hundred percent certainty anymore."

The Doctor looked around at the gas, just waiting there.

"What's it waiting for?" Nurse McDonald cried out.

"For us," the Doctor replied. "Well, we intended to come here anyway, so we may as well proceed. In that respect, nothing has changed."

"Oh, something has changed," he replied. "Before it was our choice. At this moment, I don't think we have any choice at all."

With the Doctor in the lead, the four of them began to move towards the lip of what turned out to be a large shell crater.


	12. Chapter 11

**Eleven**

They scrambled, slid and tumbled their way down the slope of the shell-hole on their way to the bottom. Arriving breathless, muddy and somewhat wet, he took a quick look at the surroundings.

The bottom of the crater was approximately six yards in diameter. He looked back up to the lip of the crater, all of seven yards above him. The gas was staying at the top, not following them down, waiting almost expectantly for something to happen.

It was Schloss who found the opening behind a large block of rubble. Watery mud filled the bottom of the hole instead of the thick, gloopy kind usually found above, yet the area by this strange entrance was remarkably dry. The surrounding rubble offered no protection from the winter weather. There was something else. The sergeant called them over to show them.

It could only be an entrance to something deeper, something under the crater that had once been the cottage. A circular hole, two or three feet wide, angled downwards into the dark ground. The moon was brighter now, or rather the clouds had parted for a time to allow more of the moonlight to shine down on them. The only problem was that not much of this precious moonlight made it down to the floor of the crater.

"Captain," Schloss said touching the inside of the entranceway. "I've seen nothing like this before. This is metal I think."

He stepped past the Doctor and reached out with one hand to run it along the inside of the, for want of a better word, tunnel.

"You're right, sergeant," he said. "It's so smooth I can't feel any joins in the metal. It's almost warm to the touch."

"Warm, you say?" the Doctor asked. "This must be it. This has to be where the entity controlling the gas is to be found. Come on, in we go."

"Are you sure?" he asked, staring into the dark maw of the tunnel.

"Yes, I'm sure," the Doctor replied. "Besides, we can't stay out here." He nodded toward the gas which had started a slow descent of the crater. "You're not afraid, are you? A tall officer like yourself, afraid of the dark?"

"No, I'm not afraid of the dark," he replied. "I'm afraid of what is waiting in the dark at the end of the tunnel. And you'd have to be a madman not to be."

"What about you sergeant?" the Doctor asked. "Are you afraid?"

Schloss looked at the Doctor, then the hole and then returned his gaze to the Doctor. "There are many things I'm afraid of," Schloss answered. "But it doesn't matter. I follow my orders. The Lord will take me when it's my time."

"Excellent," the Doctor announced. "Well, let's be going."

"Okay," he said at last. "I'll go first, followed by Evelyn, then you Doctor, and you bring up the rear, Schloss."

Everyone agreed, and he took a deep breath before sliding into the hole head first, his Lee-Enfield rifle held before him.

The tunnel, if it was a tunnel, sloped downwards and at last opened out and levelled off after the first five or six yards. It was wide enough so he could move on hands and knees, instead of crawling along on his belly. He felt a little happier since a smaller tunnel would be too confining for him to defend himself effectively, should the need arise.

After a further four yards, the tunnel exited into a corridor. A strangely shaped one to be sure, but that was the only word he could use to describe it. The floor and walls comprised the same smooth metal they'd encountered at the tunnel entrance. The walls rose to just above head height before leaning in on each side to help form an arch which he presumed to be the ceiling.

He looked up and down the corridor but could only see a few yards in each direction before the corridor curved out of view. He stuck his head back into the tunnel and shouted up to the others.

"I'm down. Everything looks okay at the moment, although, to be honest, I've no idea what I'm looking at." He took another look. "I'd say it's safe to come down now."

A moment later he heard a sudden yelp from higher up the tunnel. "Sorry," Evelyn said sheepishly. "I didn't expect it to be that steep a drop."

He held her hand to help her out of the tunnel. The Doctor arrived seconds later, to be followed by Unteroffizier Schloss bringing up the rear.

"Any ideas, Doctor?" he asked.

"Yes," the Doctor replied, "plenty of ideas."

He waited, but the Doctor didn't elaborate, so he pushed the matter.

"And?"

"What? Oh no, sorry," the Doctor replied. "No ideas on what this is. Although there's something familiar about it, but I can't place it."

The Doctor tapped the side of his head with his hands.

"We should move," he said. "Doctor, any preference for a direction?"

"No, no, no," the Doctor said. "No use, can't remember. It will come to me soon enough. Now, err direction, that way."

And the Doctor led them off to the left. Schloss tried to catch up and overtake him so that he would be the first to confront any possible danger. Unfortunately, the Doctor seemed to take it as an insult and hurried to keep in front of the sergeant.

The Doctor came to an abrupt halt causing Schloss to bump into him.

"What is it?" he asked from the back.

"We need to go back," the Doctor replied, his eyes darting around the corridor. "I've remembered what this reminded me of."

"We can't go back," Nurse McDonald answered. "The gas is behind us now, there's no way we'll get out of this and back into the crater. And how do we climb up the side of the shell-hole with the surrounding gas?"

"Doctor," he hissed, "it's go forward or die."

"If we go forward," the Doctor snapped, "we almost certainly will die."

"Almost," he responded forcefully. "I know for sure if we don't go forward, we will. Now you can wait here and let the gas creep in and take you if you want. But I will take my chances with whatever is further on."

"Okay," the Doctor agreed. "Just don't say I didn't warn you. Don't you even want to know what you're going toward?"

"Well, I'm sure you can let us know as we move forward," he said. "It's a basic function that most people can accomplish without too much trouble."

"Have it your own way, soldier-boy," the Doctor retorted. "But I shall take great pleasure in seeing your reaction to what awaits."

The Doctor continued to wave around his screwdriver, taking readings or measurements or whatever every few yards. Strange symbols were appearing on the walls. Symbols that meant nothing to anyone apart from the Doctor.

"There's still time to get out of here," the Doctor said. "I'd sooner take my chances with the gas."

Without warning as they rounded a bend, a solid looking door blocked their path.

"Oh," the Doctor exclaimed as he almost walked face first into the door. "I didn't expect that."

"What's on the other side?" he asked the Doctor in hushed tones.

"Would it make any difference if I said death?" the Doctor asked.

"Okay," he replied. "For my part, and I dare say the sergeant too, I have faced death many times since the start of the war. Sometimes it has come too close for comfort. But if what lies on the other side of that door is… controlling the gas, we must stop it. So I'll face whatever it is as well as I can. I'd rather Evelyn not be here to suffer it, though," he looked back to Evelyn, standing close to the Doctor. "I cannot change who I am, and mother taught me that women were to be respected and protected."

"It is my duty," Schloss added, "to help fight the enemy of my people. This thing, whatever it is, is the enemy of all people. I will go with the captain to do what I can to fight it, and by the grace of god, defeat it."

"You have absolutely no idea, do you?" the Doctor rounded on them. "Okay, I'll tell you. This is a vessel of a race called the Daleks. I can't be sure of the size of the thing yet, but that is irrelevant. One Dalek, or hundreds, it's all the same thing in the end. What matters is that a Dalek will destroy all life that isn't Dalek."

The Doctor paused and placed a hand against the metal door.

"But this is still impossible," the Doctor muttered. "We destroyed the Daleks in the last battle of the Time War. The whole Time War is sealed, locked, so they could never escape and threaten the universe again. Once again, they survived."

"So how did one of their vessels find itself here?" he asked the Doctor. "Here, on the Western Front where we've never even heard of this Time War. Tell us about them then, Doctor," he said. "Tell us why you're so afraid and maybe it will change our minds."

"I'm afraid because I've met them," the Doctor replied. "I met them and I survived. Most living creatures don't survive an encounter with the Daleks. Any that do, well they never forget the Daleks.

"The Daleks shared their planet with another race, the Thals. At that time, they both looked like each other, much like you humans. I forget the reason the war started. I suspect the Dalek need to dominate and control the entire planet as the most plausible reason. The war raged for hundreds of years across the planet surface, under its oceans, in its air. With each passing year, the two sides became more and more desperate to win the war. They used chemical weapons, poison gas, and even worse weapons of mass destruction on each other. Does this sound familiar? They turned the surface of their planet into an uninhabitable hellhole.

"Then a brilliant scientist by the name of Davros began experiments to create the ultimate soldier. Without a doubt, he was totally insane."

"What happened?" Nurse McDonald asked in a hushed voice.

"He succeeded," the Doctor replied. "Although these superior beings of his could not live outside of a metal shell. Forever cut off from all physical contact with the world, that machine did everything for them, they became nothing more than a brain for a fighting machine. Something to control it, to direct it in its mission. And its mission was the destruction, or enslavement, of all life that was not Dalek."

"How is that possible, though?" he asked. "What about the soldier's morals, ethics, code of honour and duty? Their families, all that must have counted for something. And the other side, these Thals, what did they do?"

"Captain," the Doctor replied, warming to his subject. "The Cybermen don't believe in the value of emotions. So they remove all emotions when they make you one of them. Which they call ' _upgrading_ ', by the way. Davros wasn't so… fussy, he removed every emotion except one."

"Fear?" he asked.

"Love?" Nurse McDonald guessed.

"Hope?" Schloss added.

"No," the Doctor replied. "The only emotion Davros left was hate. And this he built up, so it was all encompassing. And that makes the Daleks so very dangerous. They live on hate, they hate anything and everything that is not their version of Dalek. And they will destroy it, totally and without mercy. They cannot be reasoned with, they cannot be negotiated with. The only thing you can do with them is to kill them. And that, I promise you, is very hard to do."

"And you think it's one of these Daleks that is behind all the madness we're seeing around here?" he asked.

"This is a Dalek ship, which itself is impossible."

"You said that before, Doctor," he said. "It's here, we're standing inside it. So how can it be impossible?"

"Because I destroyed them, all of them," the Doctor shouted back at him. "I was a soldier. I fought in that war. And on the last day of the Time War, I was at the fall of Arcadia.

"The fighting had spread through all of time and space. The only ones with a chance of standing against the Daleks were my people, the Time Lords. We thought we were saving the universe, leading the resistance against them. Yet whole star systems burned in the fires of battle. Against the implacable hatred of the Daleks, we were like babes. But we learned, we fought and then we developed weapons of unimaginable terror. Fearful of what it would do should we use them, we locked them away in the Omega Arsenal.

"The things my people did to defeat the Daleks, the horrors we inflicted in the name of peace. To survive, we became more and more aggressive, more determined that nothing would stand in our way, whatever the cost. Over time, we used all the weapons in the Omega Arsenal, bar one. And it changed nothing except to add to the death toll. We became no better than the Daleks. Both sides killing each other through time and space. Then changing time and fighting those battles once more, in a never-ending circle of death and destruction. It was a living, never-ending hell. The fabric of time itself was in danger of unravelling. In desperation, we time-locked the whole thing. It became impossible to go back in time to change the events of the past to affect the war. Stuck in a single timeline, we were losing the war. Billions were dead already. Billions more just waiting to die."

Tears ran down the Doctor's cheeks, unchecked and unhindered.

"And so, captain," the Doctor continued, looking at him through teary eyes. "At the end, I used the last item in the Omega Arsenal to finish the war. I seized the _Moment_ , the ultimate weapon and used it. I destroyed the Daleks. And my planet, my people are shut away somewhere, in their own little universe, safe but lost."

"And that is the reason you hate soldiers then," he said. "Because you were a soldier yourself in a most terrible sounding war."

The Doctor wiped the tears from his eyes and dried his face on the back of his sleeve and then nodded once in his direction.

"And so," the Doctor said. "I hope that explains why this Dalek vessel is an impossibility."

"Actually, no it doesn't," he replied.

"No, I don't see it either," Evelyn said.

"Sergeant," the Doctor protested. "Surely you can see why?"

"I'm afraid you lost me a while back," Schloss answered.

"Unbelievable," the Doctor said. "Here I pour out both of my hearts, and none of you lot understood a thing from it. I'm surrounded by pudding heads. Look, the war is time-locked. That means it cannot be altered. When I used the _Moment_ on that last day, we destroyed all the Daleks. So, how can one of their ships be here?"

"We? I thought you are the last of your people."

"You wouldn't understand and it isn't relevant to the point at hand, which is how can a Dalek ship be here?"

"Then I'd say it came here before the last day," he said. "Came here before you locked the war, whatever that means. Or, you didn't get all of them. Maybe some of them survived, just as you survived."

"Okay," the Doctor said. "There's only one way to be sure."

"So," he asked. "Can you open this or not?"

"Captain," the Doctor replied, "I'll have you know that my sonic screwdriver can open almost any door."

"Even a wooden one?"

The Doctor ignored his remark.

Five minutes later and the door remained closed. The Doctor moving his sonic screwdriver over the door in ever increasing, agitated circles.

"I don't understand it," the Doctor complained. "Usually, it opens doors the first time. There mustn't be enough power to open it."

"Looks like this isn't 'almost any' door," he replied. "Can we go back and try the other way?"

Schloss moved back along the corridor and then stopped.

"Captain," the German said.

He looked around at the puzzled tone of the sergeant's voice.

"What is it?"

Schloss pointed down at the floor in front of him. He looked at the place the big German was pointing to on the floor, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"I don't see anything," he said. "What is it?"

"Look at your boots," Schloss answered.

He looked down at his own ankle boots, mud covered and worn. Blobs of mud, from his footwear and those of the others, smeared the floor around the door in the area where they had been walking.

"I don't—" he stopped as his mind finally noticed what it was he was seeing. A line of footprints led from the door to where Schloss stood. Beyond that, in the area Schloss indicated, there were no footprints at all. No mud, no marks, nothing. Yet all four of them had passed down this corridor moments ago. It was as if the floor was removing all evidence of their presence.

"Doctor," he called out, not taking his eyes from the clean floor beyond Schloss.

"I'll get it open I tell you," the Doctor replied over his shoulder, not deigning to turn and face him.

"Forget the door, Doctor," he said. "Can you explain this?"

The Doctor turned from the door and looked at him, then looked down the corridor to the area around Schloss.

"What about it?" the Doctor said. "It's only a self-cleaning function of the floor. Did you think I went round cleaning every corner of the Tardis every Sunday afternoon? I'd never finish. No, it's nothing magical, mysterious, or unusual. It's an automatic self-cleaning function. Now can I get back to opening this door?"

"If you say so," he replied. "But doesn't that also require power?"

"Yes, it does," the Doctor replied. "Oh, I see. Yes, if there's power for this, then there must be power for the door. Let's see shall we?"

Yet before the Doctor could once more wave his sonic screwdriver around, the wide metal door moved to the side with barely a hiss.

Everyone spun around to face the now open door. Schloss rushed forward and took up a position in front of the doctor, rifle held steadily in his hands.

"Jack," Nurse McDonald gave a little shriek of shock as he pushed her behind him. He knelt in front of her, his rifle pointing towards the opening, ready for… what?

Her fist hit him in the back of his shoulders.

"Jack," she shouted. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Protecting you," he replied.

"I don't need protecting, I've told you."

"We can decide if you need protecting once we know what we're up against," he growled. "Until that time, it's my duty to protect you. Not only because you are an attractive young woman, but because you are also a nurse. So protect you I will."

"Oh, please," said the Doctor. "Your weapons will be of no use against what is in there so you may as well put them away."


	13. Chapter 12

**Twelve**

The area on the other side of the door was in semi-darkness. As he peered in, he realised that he hadn't even questioned where the current light source originated. Outside was still the dark of an early morning winter's day. But inside, the light seemed to come from everywhere at once, a soft, diffuse light that cast no shadows and was gentle on the eyes.

The Doctor waved his screwdriver through the door opening and glanced at it. "Nothing unusual."

He looked up at the Doctor and slowly rose from his kneeling position. Turning to Schloss, he made a slight gesture, the big German nodded understanding and stood.

As he crept through the door, he sensed Schloss moving to one side to provide covering fire if required. The further into the room he walked, the more of the area became lit. Four yards into the chamber he stopped and glanced back at the door to find the Doctor and Evelyn already inside the chamber.

"It's customary," he said somewhat annoyed, "for you to wait outside until you're told it's safe to enter."

"Why?" asked the Doctor. "If it isn't safe, what are we supposed to do? Wait until we die of old age? Because in my case, that could take a very long time."

"Never mind," he replied.

"Aha," cried the Doctor looking at his sonic screwdriver.

The far end of the chamber was still in darkness. From out of that darkness a slow flow of gas came toward them, stopping ten yards way. The gas behaved as a fog bank coming off a river. A shape could be seen moving within the gas cloud. The shape was not one with which he was familiar. It was as tall as Nurse McDonald, broader at the bottom than the top, almost like a large triangle, yet with a rounded top.

"Dalek," the Doctor exclaimed in a whispered breath.

Partially obscured by the darkness and the gas, the Dalek stopped and remained still, making no further move towards them. He trained his rifle on the thing, but he had no idea where the vulnerable points may be. In fact, if the Doctor was correct, this thing had no vulnerable points. His eyes flicked in toward the Doctor.

"Doctor?" he pleaded.

Taking a step forward, the Doctor cleared his throat and spoke out to the Dalek.

"Dalek, I'm the Doctor. You may have heard of me."

The Dalek made no response.

"That's strange," the Doctor added. "Daleks always make a big fuss when they face me."

"Why would that be?" Evelyn asked.

"I'm known by many names to the Daleks," the Doctor answered. "None of them are pleasant. 'The Oncoming Storm' or 'The Predator' are two of the least offensive ones. I suppose it's because I had a habit of killing them and defeating their plans."

"So what do we do now? Wait for it to kill us?"

"Certainly not," the Doctor replied, once more full of life and energy. "We do nothing of the sort. What we need to do first, though, is find out how it created that gas. And what it hopes to achieve by releasing it amongst you humans?"

"It's not likely to tell us though is it?" he asked, exasperated.

"Despite being designed by a mad genius," the Doctor replied, "they only have one purpose in their lives. Anything beyond killing and they're a bit behind the rest of the universe. In my experience, if the Dalek thinks it has the upper hand it will reveal its intentions to you. At that point, it will try to kill you. So we'll go with the first part and try to avoid the second."

"I'm so glad," Evelyn added. "For a moment I was sure you would tell the creature to kill us all and have done with it."

"Certainly not," the Doctor answered, drawing himself up. "I'm much more sophisticated than that. When I was younger, I may have done that, but that can be hard on the nerves of those travelling with me."

"Well, I'm glad you've grown up some," she replied.

"Yes, well, twelve hundred years will make anyone grow up," added the Doctor, before turning once more to face the silhouette of the Dalek in the gas. "Dalek, I am the Doctor. What is your purpose here? In fact, how did you end up here? I was present on the last day of the Time War. I saw Gallifrey disappear and the Dalek fleet destroyed. Tell me, Dalek. How did you survive that?"

Once more the Dalek made no response, it seemed completely unaware of their presence in the chamber. But for the cloud of gas obscuring all but the silhouette, he would have doubted that the creature existed. Yet the Doctor was insistent this was a Dalek.

"Maybe we should, you know, go around it," he suggested. "After all, Doctor, I don't think it's listening to you. It could be broken."

"Broken," the Doctor looked thoughtful for a moment before fiddling with his sonic screwdriver again. The Doctor pointed the sonic screwdriver into the chamber and waved it at the Dalek before bringing it up to his face to examine the readings. "Not broken," the Doctor added, "just not here."

"What do you mean, 'not here'?" Evelyn asked confused. "I can see it, in the cloud of gas."

"No," the Doctor replied. "What you can see is the shape of a Dalek conveniently hidden by the surrounding gas cloud. What an ingenious way to hide from, and to frighten, unwanted visitors."

"It's a deadly gas," he said. "What on earth would it need to hide from? And why would it try to make itself look like something it isn't? Dalek or a sentient gas doesn't make a lot of difference from where I'm stood."

"My dear, Jack," the Doctor answered. "It makes all the difference. One kills without pause, without regret, with no compunction to not kill. The other is adopting a defensive tactic seen even amongst some creatures on this planet. How many creatures make themselves look like something they're not to protect themselves from predators? If the entity wanted us dead, the gas would have taken us, and we would be powerless to stop it. You saw that with those nine unfortunate men earlier. No, this thing that controls the gas, whatever it is, it doesn't kill just for the sake of it. There's a purpose here, an intelligence, and if we can talk to it, then it can be reasoned with. We have to find out how to communicate with it."

He glared across at Evelyn and spread his hands, his head jerked once in the Doctor's direction.

"He asked," she said, answering his unspoken question. "So I told him. You never said it was a secret or anything."

"Well, I didn't expect you be telling all and sundry either," he replied.

"Oh, I'm sorry," added the Doctor. "I hope I'm not causing an argument between the two of you. I assure you, captain, I merely asked for background information as I like to know something about my travelling companions."

"Travelling companions," he exploded. "A midnight slog across half of No Man's Land and then behind the enemy lines on some wild chase to find an intelligent gas. I must remember that one when next I go over the top with my men. I'm sure it will cheer them up no end."

"Be that as it may," the Doctor continued. "We are travelling together, and I suppose I am stuck in my behaviour concerning travelling companions. And besides, Captain Jack has a certain ring to it. Not only that, but it feels familiar like we should—"

"Let's not even go there, okay," he said, cutting the Doctor off in mid-sentence. "Let's get on with the task at hand. Which is finding out what is controlling the gas, stopping it from doing whatever it does to those it infects, and finally getting everyone back before Christmas is over. Is that okay?"

The Doctor looked at him for a long time, eyes once more probing his own.

"As you wish, captain," the Doctor said. "Let us proceed then." And the Doctor walked toward the shape of the Dalek in the gas.

"Doctor, stop," screamed Evelyn. "You can't go into the gas, you'll be infected and then… then we'll have to kill you."

"Thank you for your concern, my dear Evelyn," the Doctor replied. "However, I have no intention of going into the gas. I'm going toward this console by the wall."

The Doctor pointed to a panel jutting out from one of the side walls. On reaching it, the Doctor ran his sonic screwdriver over it, muttering to himself as he did so.

He moved closer to the Doctor, so he could be of help should the Doctor need it. Not that he expected the Doctor to ask for it, but he could still need it. He didn't understand one word in ten the Doctor was muttering while dismantling bits of the machine, pulling pieces out and pushing them into other parts of the panel.

The gas moved closer towards them, the Dalek silhouette still contained with the gas cloud.

"Doctor," he said getting the Doctor's attention. "The gas is moving closer towards us."

"Oh, that's interesting," the Doctor said. "It must be wondering what we're doing with the vessel. Well, I'm almost done here. Plug this bit in and stick the old sonic screwdriver in here, turn it on here and we're… done."

The Doctor turned to face the gas cloud and the Dalek.

"I am the Doctor, I can help you if you let me. I've changed this system so you should be able to understand and communicate with us. You have the form of a Dalek, but you are not a Dalek, I know the Daleks of old. So tell me, what are you? And how can I help you?"

A faint hissing came from all around them.

"Gas," exclaimed Schloss.

"No," the Doctor replied as he turned and fiddled with the sonic screwdriver once more. "The frequency is not quite right." Once more plugging the sonic screwdriver back into the machine, he continued. "That should do it, try again."

"Try what again?" he asked.

"I wasn't talking to you, captain," the Doctor said. "Soldiers always thinking the world revolves around them. I was talking to—"

"Doc… tor," the faint words sounded in the chamber.

"Yes," the Doctor replied. "That's my name. Now we can communicate, there's no need for more killing. Let's just talk and find out what is happening shall we?"

"Doc… tor," the words came once more. "Kill… ing, what… kill… ing?"

"What killing?" he asked in surprise, casting a quick glance at the Doctor. "How about the men driven mad by the gas? How can it not know Doctor?"

"What gas?" The words, still faint and sibilant, replied. "First time… any being comm… uni… cates with us… in such… long… time. Try to… remem… ber how. Old memo… ries return… slow."

"That's fine," the Doctor said. "That's okay. Take your time, keep practising and when you're ready, we can have a good old communication session, eh? Do a few counting exercises that should help with getting the old speech systems going again. I know what it's like having to remember things all over again." The Doctor glanced in his direction and muttered. "One disadvantage of being a Time Lord I guess."

The voice went through some counting exercises as the Doctor had suggested and he could hear that the speaking was improving. The pauses between words, and even parts of words, were getting smaller and smaller. In a short space of time, the entity was speaking at a reasonable pace, the words remained faint, the voice sibilant as if a gas was leaking.

"We are ready, Doctor," the entity said at last. "Tell us what you mean by the killing."

He looked at the Doctor open-mouthed. The Doctor shook his head as if this was something to be expected.

"You are killing the inhabitants of this planet."

"We do not understand," the whisper-like voice of the entity came from all around them. "We do not kill, we have never killed."

He was about to argue with that, but the doctor held his hand up towards him, turned to face him and said. "Shh. Captain, please. Kindly allow me to conduct this interview. Thank you." The Doctor turned to face the image of the Dalek in the gas.

"Your gas," the Doctor continued, "is killing anyone it infects in a most horrifying manner."

"What gas?" the voice replied.

"It's everywhere," the Doctor replied. "It chases after people, hunting them down, traps them and then it works on them until they go mad. How can you say what gas?"

"There is no gas," the voice answered once more. "Nor do we kill. We are not capable of killing. It is not part of our design parameters."

"Look," said the Doctor. "I'm sorry, but you're wrong. I traced the faint signal emanating from the gas back to this location. This is a Dalek vessel of some sort, so it's safe to assume that this is where the control is based."

"We still do not understand the statement that we kill. The available evidence indicates this is not the case. We are incapable of killing."

"What evidence?" the Doctor asked. "Look, the people of this planet have not harmed you in any way have they? They don't threaten you either, do they? So tell me, why release this gas on them? Why are you killing them?"

The voice was silent for several seconds. The Doctor looked around at each of them and shrugged his shoulders.

"What do you think it means, Doctor?" he asked, not liking how the conversation was progressing.

"I believe we have a breakdown in communication," the Doctor answered. "We seem to be talking at cross purposes. We mean one thing and they must mean something else."

"Do you notice," Evelyn said. "That the voice always refers to itself in the plural. It hasn't once used the singular. It's always been ' _we_ ' this and ' _we_ ' that. Never has it said ' _I_ ', to anything. And there's only the one Dalek figure."

"That we can see," he added.

"That we can see," she repeated. "Maybe—"

"We concur, Doctor," the voice interrupted. "Something is missing in the communication protocols translation layer."

"Yes," the Doctor said staring pointedly in his direction. "I'm afraid it's all I can manage, after all, it's only a sonic screwdriver."

"Answers will follow from supplied questions," the voice whispered. "Begin."

The Doctor thought for a moment before turning to the rest of the group.

"Aha, if I'm right, it wants us to ask questions which it will then answer. I assume it will do the same to us."

"What good is that?" he asked.

"It's a good way of getting to understand each other's use of vocabulary, communication norms and methods. I suppose it's been a long time since it had any contact with another living being that communication may have been a little… stunted."

"You're not a Dalek then?" Nurse McDonald asked. The Doctor shot her a stern look, but she shrugged her shoulders and stuck out her tongue at him.

"We are not Dalek," the voice answered.

"If you're not Dalek, what are you?" she continued. But no answer was forthcoming. "What's happening?" she asked turning to the Doctor. "Why doesn't it answer?"

The Doctor looked thoughtful, his hand stroking his chin.

"Captain," the Doctor said, "ask the same question, please."

"Okay then," he said. "What are you, if you are not a Dalek?"

"We have no name in our memories. We only have the past and a designated purpose."

The three humans and one Time Lord looked at each other for a moment, digesting this information.

"The same person cannot ask questions one after the other," the Doctor said. "Someone else from the group must ask the next question."

"When will it start asking questions?" he asked. "And who answers them?"

"I'm sure we will know when it asks questions," the Doctor replied. "As for giving the answers, well that would depend on the question, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose so," he replied. He looked over at Schloss. "Your turn now, sergeant."

"You say you don't use gas, but I can see the gas in this room," Schloss said as he looked around the chamber.

"That's not a question," the Doctor interrupted. "You need to ask it a question. You know, such as, who, what, why, when, and where. Those are questions, or did you lot forget how to ask questions once the killing began?"

"Sometimes," Schloss replied with care, "you don't want to know the answer to the question. Other times, knowing the answer changes nothing. I am a simple soldier, Doctor, and I don't know why we went to war because some Austrian duke got himself shot. The only answers worth knowing are those which pertain to your own survival in this mess."

"Well, you need to ask one now," the Doctor chided.

"When did you arrive here?" Schloss blurted out.

"The passage of time has no meaning for us. We cannot give you an answer in any terms you will understand since we have no shared frame of reference for such things."

"That is so true," the Doctor jumped in excitement. "Oh yes, let's get some common frames of reference by all means."

"I have my watch if it's needed," he mentioned.

The Doctor looked at him as if he was a child. "No captain," the Doctor said. "We need something more accurate than your watch. I have my sonic screwdriver."

"How is your screwdriver more accurate than my watch?"

"This sonic screwdriver is calibrated to the time vortex," the Doctor answered, a smug smile on his face. "Nothing is more accurate in the whole universe."

They spent the next several minutes getting these frames of reference for time sorted out. The Doctor informed the entity when exactly ten seconds had elapsed. From that point, they defined everything from seconds to years, and then centuries.

"Thirty-seven days, four hours, twenty-three minutes and sixteen seconds," the entity said.

"Eh?" he replied.

"The time it has been here," the Doctor added. "That would make it… what, the middle of November or something like that. Anything about that date stands out in your mind? Anyone?"

He shook his head. "Sorry Doctor," he replied. "My company were miles away from here. In another sector, to be honest."

"Nothing," Schloss added. "As with the captain, my unit was not in this area last month. I think we were in the rear."

"Typical," the Doctor snapped. "Soldiers all over the place and none of you were anywhere near here to witness anything happening."

"I saw something," Evelyn spoke out.

Everyone looked at her.

"I've been at the casualty clearing station for the last six months," she continued. "I have a day off every couple of weeks, depending on how busy it is. Anyway, last month a few of us saw something on fire falling into the woods. We all thought it was a plane. We wondered whose side it belonged to, and what happened to the pilot. Did he jump, or did he burn? There was a large explosion in that direction."

"But planes rarely fly at night," he added.

"So, not a plane," the Doctor added. "And I suppose it landed on the house here. The heat of re-entry may have set off any ammunition around here, but still. It's even possible that the vessel still had some rudimentary defence capabilities. In which case, the occupiers of the building stood no chance."

"Doctor," he said, "your turn to ask a question."

"Indeed," the Doctor replied. "Why do you show the shape of a Dalek in the gas cloud?"

"There is no gas cloud," the entity replied.

"Okay," the Doctor rephrased his question. "Why is a silhouette of a Dalek visible?"

There was no answer from the entity in the room.

"Look this taking it in turns isn't working," the Doctor spat. "It's not effective and is taking too much time. Why not just answer the questions asked regardless of who is doing the asking?"

There was a brief pause before the entity replied.

"We agree, Doctor. The Daleks were the last living entities on this vessel before we arrived." After a small pause, the voice continued, this time with questions of its own. "Doctor, you are a Time Lord?"

"Yes," the Doctor replied.

"The others are not Time Lords?"

"No, they are not Time Lords. When—"

"What do you know about the Time War?"

The Doctor's mouth dropped open. He saw the Doctor's face drain of colour and the lower lip tremble. He glimpsed something flash across the Doctor's eyes before they squeezed shut.

"Doctor," he said. "You mentioned something earlier about a Time War between your people and the Daleks."

"Yes," the Doctor replied.

"How does this thing know about it then?"

"Many species know of the Time War," the Doctor said, voice leaden, almost dead. "With so much death, destruction and suffering, how could they not know? And for what? I spent one regeneration running from what I'd done, and another hiding from the memories."

"Doctor," the voice interrupted their quiet side-conversation, much to the relief of the Doctor, he thought. "You know of the Great Time War. What do you know of the Rexanna system?"

Once again, the question rocked the Doctor. This time, the Doctor took a step backwards shaking his head before bumping into Schloss.

"Rexanna system," the Doctor repeated. "Rexanna system, err… oh, it was a peaceful system, no threat to anyone or anything. Until a Dalek war fleet arrived and stripped the system of its resources for their war effort. Gallifrey had offered to aid any system in the path of the Dalek fleets, but the problem was that predicting where the Dalek fleets would emerge wasn't accurate. Anyway, Rexanna fell to the Daleks after a few weeks of bitter fighting."

The chamber was quiet for a few moments.

"Doctor," the voice asked once more. "What do you know of ' _RDK Hellonis III_ '?"

"What? RD-what?" The Doctor shook his head trying to come back around to the new question. "Nothing, I've never heard of it. What is it?"

Unexpectedly, the voice replied. "It is related to the Omega Arsenal."

"Doctor, I've heard that before," he said. "Didn't you mention the Omega Arsenal earlier?"

"Yes, I did," the Doctor replied. "The Omega Arsenal was the place my people kept the most secret, dangerous and never to be used weapons. If RDK Hellonis III was in the Omega Arsenal, it must have been a terrible weapon indeed."

"Why build a weapon that is never to be used?" he asked the Doctor, puzzlement on his face. "I mean, we make guns and ships and would prefer not to use them. But if forced to, we will. But we would never say this weapon is 'never' to be used and then lock it away. We may be mad Doctor, but we're not stupid."

"Your time for that hasn't come yet," the Doctor replied. "But this interest in Rexanna system and a particular weapon from the Omega Arsenal must be significant. So please do me the favour of being quiet while I think."

He snapped his mouth shut and allowed the Doctor to pace about the console for a few moments. The entity also appeared willing to let the Doctor try to remember what he could given the new facts he had received.

"While the Doctor is thinking," he said. "I'd like to ask another question if I may?"

Taking the silence as permission, he continued. "How many of you are there? And why don't you show yourselves?"

"We are almost without number," the voice replied. "Billions upon billions of us exist. We are showing ourselves to you. We are in front of you."

"Where? I don't see you," he shouted.

"What you see as the Dalek shape is a larger concentration of us than in the surrounding area."

"What?" the Doctor spun around to peer closer toward the Dalek before slapping himself on the forehead several times. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I miss that? I've spent too long in the company of humans. I'm becoming a pudding brain myself."

"What is it, Doctor?" he asked perplexed.

"Don't you see?" the Doctor said pointing at the Dalek. "The entity has always been here. It's obvious, surely you can't be blind and stupid, captain."

"Well," he replied tartly. "Since you have only just noticed it, Doctor, that little insult does nothing to worry me. So why don't you tell us all what is now so obvious to your mighty Time Lord intellect."

The Doctor went still and quiet.

"Doctor, we're waiting," Evelyn said.

"Ah, yes," the Doctor replied. "Sorry, please forgive me, I got carried away. That happens when you get to my age. Not that you ever will, of course, but there you go. No, the entity is here. The gas isn't being produced and used by the entity. The gas is the entity."

"But the entity claimed it had never killed," she said. "Yet we've seen the gas kill. It killed those nine German soldiers not so far from here. How can it say it hasn't killed when we've seen it? It has killed, Doctor, it has."

He put his arms around her and pulled her towards him as she began to sob. He looked past her shoulder at the Doctor, standing alone looking lost and confused.

"We do not kill," the voice answered Nurse McDonald's question for them.

"But the men go mad," he said. "We've seen them, Doctor, you were there too."

"Yes," the Doctor replied. "I was there. And thinking about it, the entity is correct. They haven't killed a single person."

"How can you say that?" he almost shouted in the Doctor's calm and steady face. "You saw."

"So did you," the Doctor replied. "Think about exactly what happened, what you saw. The gas got to the men. Then what happened? They went mad, screaming hate, attacking one another and anyone nearby. The gas itself didn't kill any of them. They didn't fall over dead when the gas infected them. No, they killed each other or died as they attacked the uninfected. The horrible truth is the gas has killed no one. I don't understand yet how it does it, but it must be very subtle."

"Not subtle at all, Doctor," the voice added. "Our purpose is simple. We supply hate to those we affect. Everything else, the host does to itself."

The Doctor raised his head to the ceiling and let out a loud yell. "Aargh, that is it, RDK Hellonis III. I remember now."


	14. Chapter 13

**Thirteen**

"Doctor," he hissed and nodded at their surroundings. "The gas is getting closer and a lot thicker."

The Doctor looked across. "So it is," the Doctor added. "I will tell you what I remember of Rexanna and RDK Hellonis III, if I have your promise you will cause no harm to come to us. Do I have your promise?"

"Unknown," the entity replied. "Define a promise?"

"Oh," the Doctor said, baffled. "Err, okay. Can we have your guarantee that no harm will come to us?"

"No," the entity said with finality. "We can only guarantee you will not come to any harm due to our actions or inactions. Is that satisfactory?"

"Very," the Doctor answered. "Just so I know, why is there now more of you within the chamber? It is quite threatening."

"There is no threat there now that was not there the moment you entered the vessel. We would all like to hear what you have to say first-hand, rather than have it relayed. Please, Doctor, begin."

The Doctor faced him and the others. "You may as well sit down and get as comfortable as you can. This may take awhile."

He nodded approval toward Schloss, who sat down with his back resting against the side of the machine. He sat on the floor, like Schloss, leaning his back against the console with Evelyn next to him, her body leaning against his.

The Doctor clapped his hands together.

"Right," the Doctor announced. "Let's begin with a little history lesson shall we."

And then the Time Lord paced up and down in front of the console and the humans as he began his history lesson.

The Daleks were another race of time-travellers, however, they had visions of conquest, of empire. They did not believe that war should be fought according to any rules of agreed behaviour. They did not believe that some acts should not be allowed in war. For them, war was total. The aim of war was simple. To destroy the enemy quickly and comprehensively.

Stood against them were the Time Lords of Gallifrey. Full of rules and protocols about what is and is not allowed in time travel, in the interaction with other species, in… well in everything. An ordered and structured society that had learnt to control, or tame, the time vortex. With this power they thought they were enough to hold off the Daleks, even to defeat them.

But what chance did the naive Time Lords have against the merciless Daleks? Technological superiority only accounts for so much. Soon the Daleks caught up with the technology of the Time Lords, and in some cases, even surpassed them. The Time Lords did not have enough Sky Trenches to defend every possible target system from the Daleks. Within a short space of time, the pattern of the war became firmly established.

The Dalek fleet would engage a system, seemingly at random. Their saucers bombarded any system defences until they reduced its effectiveness below a given threshold. And then they would make an all-out assault on the planet surface.

The Time Lords rules of engagement limited the actions they, and the system inhabitants, could take to fight the Daleks. For the Daleks, everything on the planet surface was an enemy and so could be destroyed. For the defenders, destroying a Dalek formation often meant destroying large swathes of cities and the populations.

The march of the Daleks became relentless, unstoppable. The Time Lords would lose the war, and when that happened the universe would be plunged into chaos and the reign of the Daleks.

Back on Gallifrey, scientists had been hard at work for centuries preparing for this day. They had designed weapons to fight the Dalek menace. They decided that some of these weapons were too insidious to use. Their effects too awful to contemplate. So they locked them away in a very secure place in the heart of the capital on Gallifrey. That place was the Omega Arsenal.

As the war raged through time and space, the Time Lords and the Daleks fought over the same systems time and time again. With no end in sight. A living nightmare for anyone involved in the war.

The Doctor paused in his telling for a moment, his eyes glazing over in memory of that time. Looking around at the gas that now filled the room, the Doctor blinked and glanced at the humans on the floor nearby.

"We're okay Doctor," he said, noticing a look of worry cross the Doctor's worn, grey, face. "Carry on."

The Doctor nodded once and turned again to face the heaviest concentration of the gas.

"You must realise," the Doctor said, "that although I'm a Time Lord and fought in the war, I wasn't everywhere. I couldn't be everywhere. I couldn't save everyone. It was just too impossible. What I know about Rexanna I heard from others and read in some of the intelligence reports. I use this as the basis for what I'm about to tell you now. It's just a hypothesis, but I think it has a sound basis of fact in there to make it sustainable."

"We understand, Doctor," the entity replied. "Please continue, tell us of Rexanna."

And so the Doctor told the gas about Rexanna, which was a place and not a person as he had first thought. As the Doctor's calm voice once again wove its tale through the imagination, he looked down to find that Nurse McDonald's hand remained in his own. She was too intent on following the Doctor's story and hadn't seemed to notice. He thought of mentioning it to her, or removing his hand from hers in case she felt it inappropriate. But then thought better of it. If she wanted to remove her hand, she could do it whenever she wished. For his part, he liked the feel of her small hand in his. He turned his attention back to the Doctor's tale.

One weapon locked within the vaults of the Omega Arsenal was a poison that operated on the sub-molecular level. The scientists developed it in the hope of infecting the Daleks and killing them, or at least incapacitating them enough that they could be killed by regular means. The last problem the scientists faced had been how to penetrate the Dalek exterior to gain access to the biological being within. The Dalek shell generates a force field around it that reflects, absorbs, melts, or bends anything that comes into contact with it. Daleks could be killed with regular Time Lord weapons, but the Time Lords didn't have enough of them to equip all the defender's forces. The power requirements were too high for something like a poison. The poison needed a reliable delivery mechanism. Nobody knows how the Time Lord scientists overcame the problem as no records survived. However, they now had the means for the weapon to penetrate the Dalek exterior. Given the purpose of the weapon, it was relatively easy to direct it to the Dalek emotion banks. There it would activate itself and become an amplifier for the emotions of the Dalek, and Daleks only have the one emotion strong enough to be picked up on. Hate.

The Dalek would then overdose on its own hatred. It would hate everything, itself and other Daleks included. The theory was that the Daleks would fight amongst themselves. Using their hatred against them, forcing them to hate their fellow Daleks which would allow them to be killed.

An administrator with a lack of imagination gave the weapon its name, DHS-1. All it needed was a field test to determine how effective it was, what adjustments needed to be made. However, Gallifrey High Command decided that it should be a weapon of last resort since its effects on the Daleks were unproven and its impact on other life-forms unknown. So they placed it in the Omega Arsenal with the other weapons of last resort.

As the war's progress worsened, the Time Lords resorted to more and more extreme and desperate measures to combat the Daleks. Over time, they released more and more weapons from the Omega Arsenal to see use in battle. DHS-1 soon had its day in the sun. The Daleks had taken a vital system called Carvin. The inhabitants had either fled or were part of the 27 billion dead. Gallifrey High Command decided that Carvin was an ideal place to field test DHS-1. They loaded a sample of it onto a unique ship which would deliver the _cargo_ to Carvin. An escort of four Time Lord fighting ships accompanied it. The trip to Carvin would take three weeks as they had to avoid the most heavily contested areas of the conflict.

Rexanna was a twin world system with the larger of the two planets being the system capital. A total population of over 32 billion lived in peace and seclusion. The Time War had yet to touch that corner of the galaxy so the defences were primitive and incomplete. The natives were peaceful and not in the least warlike, tending towards the arts and the philosophical sciences. A small Dalek raiding fleet of perhaps one hundred or one hundred and fifty vessels came across Rexanna and did what Daleks do. They attacked and launched assaults on the two planets.

A small unit of Gallifrey Guardians happened to be present on Rexanna. They wanted to take advantage of the climate and peaceful surroundings to get away from the horrors of the war and recuperate. These men were the ones who got the message out that the Daleks were attacking Rexanna and provided the first stages of resistance to those Daleks that landed.

The Guardians held out against the Dalek forces to the bitter end. They fought a guerilla war for over two weeks against a foe that never sleeps, never slows down, and never gives up.

On the thirteenth day of their voyage to Carvin, the little convoy of escorts and deadly cargo passed close to the Rexanna system. Since they were in covert mode, they had maintained a healthy communication blackout for the entire journey. The hundred plus Dalek ships in the system came as a rude shock. Dalek fleet sentries destroyed all four escorts as they protected the cargo vessel in its attempt to escape out of the system. The cargo ship, the _RDK Hellonis III_ , crashed onto the surface of the world below.

On the sixteenth day of the occupation, the surviving Guardians made their final broadcasts. A confused jumble of words, images and surreal readings that made no sense at the time. The Dalek occupation forces were killing each other, but then, so too were the local defenders. The survivors suspected a gas cloud to be responsible. Probes sent into the cloud returned detailed readings of its composition. They collected the information and sent it by vortex communication back to the High Command on Gallifrey.

A scout vessel made the dangerous trip to Rexanna to investigate what had occurred. Arriving a week or so after the crash of the _RDK Hellonis III_ , it found the remains of the Dalek fleet floating in the system. They detected no signs of life, yet the Dalek automated systems remained on full alert. The scout vessel's on-board systems detected not even the smallest sign of life on the planet. DHS-1 had affected not only the Daleks but every living thing on the planet regardless of its size. The other world of the system was less severely affected. The scout vessel located several pockets of survivors, but no Daleks. All avoided contact with the scout vessel, and each other, no matter how much the scouts pleaded that they could help them.

"Now all that," the Doctor finished, "took place over one thousand and three hundred years ago. Gallifrey High Command considered it a success. The use of the remaining stocks of DHS-1 was then authorised, and used in several attacks against Dalek locations where little, or no other life was to be found. Whether the Daleks ever realised what the cause of these mysterious fights was I've no idea. And quite frankly, I don't care.

"Like every single weapon in the Omega Arsenal, it killed millions and changed nothing. The Daleks still formed a single, massive fleet and attacked Gallifrey. And I am the only survivor."

The entire room was deathly quiet once the Doctor had finished speaking. He gazed up at the Doctor to see the Time Lord rub his eyes and run a hand through his grey hair. He looked at Evelyn, sat beside him on the floor, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She returned it and gave a gentle smile back at him.

"Doctor," Schloss called out suddenly.

Everybody looked to Schloss, who pointed towards the thick gas cloud which was now only a matter of a couple of yards away from them.

"Why are you getting closer to us?" demanded the Doctor. "You gave a guarantee we would not have any harm come to us while we were here."

"No harm will come to you," the entry replied. "All of our constituent parts are coming to this central place to hear what you have to say. This area will need to be bigger to accommodate all of us."

"What more do you wish to know?" the Doctor asked. "I've told you all I know of Rexanna and the RDK Hellonis III."

"We would know how we achieved awareness," the entity said. "What you have already told us was unknown to us. We only knew of the Daleks on this vessel. Eventually, they too succumbed to their own hatred. All other living beings we have attempted to communicate with have suffered from the effects of their own nature. You are the first we have communicated with since we achieved full awareness."

"What can I say," the Doctor added, "I'm the Doctor and I have an excellent bedside manner."

"You are also a Time Lord," the entity replied.

If a whispered voice could ever be said to contain menace, then this was that voice. He suspected that the Doctor would be too oblivious to the subtleties to notice.

"Doctor," he said in a hushed voice. "I can't help feeling that the gas thing, entity, whatever you want to call it, is not very happy."

"Rubbish," the Doctor countered. "What reason would it have for being angry? It is alive, aware, a collective living organism. It is absolutely marvellous."

"Well," he continued. "Maybe since the Time Lords created it, and you are the only Time Lord around, it may hold you responsible for its condition."

"What? No, that is just ridiculous," the Doctor protested. "I was not part of the team that developed DHS-1 as a weapon. In fact, I was one of the most vociferous opponents of the whole Omega Arsenal approach and the conduct of the war."

"Doctor," he replied. "If what you say is correct, then this gas will infect any living organism and intensify its hatred. Correct?"

"Well done, Captain Jack," the Doctor answered. "You were paying attention. I'm surprised."

"It seems it is quite easy for a mere soldier to surprise you, Doctor," he said. "But how about this for a surprise, what effect would this ability to heighten hatred have on the gas itself, especially once it became self-aware? How were all the organisms on that planet Rexanna affected—"

"Rexanna is a system, not a planet," the Doctor interrupted.

"Whatever," he replied. "Does a worm, or a rat, or a bird actually hate anything? How much hate does an animal have?"

"None, of course," the Doctor replied. "Hate is an emotion and so it is the product of a higher level of awareness that is not found in those so called lower life-forms. Although you never find them going to war or inflicting pain and suffering on others of their kind just for pleasure or because they can."

"Right, enough now, Doctor and listen. If the likes of birds, rabbits, rats, worms, etcetera don't hate, how did they all die? What killed them? This DHS-1 thing worked on the inherent hate of a Dalek, to amplify it so that the Dalek hated everything, even itself."

"Ah, yes," the Doctor whispered. "I see. If the amplification of hatred, specifically Dalek hatred, was the only weapon that DHS-1 had available, how did it kill all life on the planet? Or was it responsible for the death of all life on the planet? That is an interesting idea. However, captain, I believe that the hate-infected Daleks, and there's a strange term, destroyed all life on the planet. A Dalek certainly has the capability to do such a thing. Driven mad by excessive hate… I'm sure that's what it would have done. Yet, there's also the reports from the Guardians, the DHS-1 should not have affected them."

"So this isn't the same weapon that was DHS-1, or there was more to it than the Time Lords knew about. Or it is the same, but it changed, adapted while it was in the Omega Arsenal. Which is it, Doctor?"

"It is similar to the readings of the DHS-1 submitted to the overseers of the Omega Arsenal, also to the readings the Guardians took before they succumbed. Very similar, but with enough differences that it threw me off when I first came across the readings tonight."

"So what do we do, Doctor?"

The Doctor looked at him and smiled. "We find out," the Doctor said.


	15. Chapter 14

**Fourteen**

"There's something I don't understand," the Doctor said. "The Time War finished over 1,200 years ago. The attack on Rexanna was perhaps a hundred years or so prior to the fall of Arcadia."

"So?" he asked, his eyes fixed the encroaching gas rather than the Doctor.

"So," replied the Doctor, "the most probable period from its deployment until now is less than 2,000 years. That is way too short for it to have developed the level of self-consciousness we see right now.

"No, there is something else at work here. Something I'm missing. Something so simple I'll kick myself when I realise what it is. But at the moment, it continues to elude me. Do you ever have that problem, captain?"

Yet before he could even answer, the Doctor continued. "Of course not. Life is simple for you, isn't it? There's the enemy. Kill it. The life of a soldier is simple, obey your orders and absolve yourself of all responsibility of thinking about your actions. Nothing has changed since the first ape picked up a stick and clubbed his neighbour over the head with it. The only difference is they did it for food, or something just as important. Now you fight for abstract concepts. Concepts you don't even fully understand yourselves. And instead of using clubs you've used all of your human ingenuity to develop more efficient ways to kill one another. The one area where you've all had so much practice, so much time invested in and an overwhelming need to try things out. From the club to the knife, from the spear to the bow, from the bullet to the bomb, an endless stream of human inventiveness. All of it based around the art of killing. And has it solved anything? No."

He stood at the Doctor's outburst.

"From what you've told us already," he retorted. "You Time Lords have done your own fair share of killing, and not just of your enemies. What did you do as a soldier in the Time War then, Doctor? Did you disobey every order given to you? How many died because you didn't do as ordered? Or was it a case that the Doctor gives orders, but never follows them?"

"You know nothing of the horrors of the Time War," the Doctor raised his voice at him. "You sit here all safe and proud, but you know nothing of the horror, the deaths I've seen."

"I know about the horror of war," he snapped back. "I've been at the front for two years now. So don't you dare try to tell me you have a monopoly on experiencing the horrors of war, old man. Don't you bloody well dare."

The Doctor's mouth opened for a reply, but it was Evelyn who got the next words in. "The gas," she said, "the gas is almost by the pair of you."

He looked at his feet, then where the Doctor stood. Sure enough, the gas was less than a yard away.

The Doctor looked around where he was standing. Then crept back to be closer to the others and the console. They looked at each other.

"Doctor," he asked. "What do we do now?"

"We wait a little longer," the doctor answered. As the sonic screwdriver gave a short beep, everyone glanced at it. The Doctor reached across and lifted it from its position on the console, examining it with great care. "Of course," he smiled, "not enough time to evolve. So you need more time."

"Doctor?" Evelyn asked.

"If the gas is the DHS-1 used in the Time War against the Daleks in the Rexanna system," the Doctor replied, a glint in his eyes. "The only way to attain this level of self-awareness is by evolving over a longer time period than the 2,000 years since the first use of the weapon."

The Doctor held up his sonic screwdriver and pointed to it. "This is confirmation that it had plenty of time to evolve, a lot of time in fact."

"How does your screwdriver tell you that?" he asked, interested yet also keeping his eye on the progress of the gas through the chamber.

"I keep telling you it's sonic. It's not just for opening doors. Anyway, Dalek systems are almost impossible to hack," the Doctor answered. "Though I met a… person who cracked the entire Dalek net. She was a rather brilliant girl." The Doctor's voice trailed off.

"I've no idea what you are talking about," he said, confused by the unfamiliar terms and words the Doctor used.

"I like the sound of her," Evelyn said. "Do we get to meet her?"

The Doctor gazed at her, his eyes misting before he lowered his head to look at his shoes. Then he raised his head and looked into her eyes. "She was a remarkable girl," the Doctor said. "And I'm sorry but you won't get to meet her, she died saving other people from the Daleks."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Evelyn replied, her voice quiet.

The Doctor jerked himself back to the present. "Yes," the Doctor said. "Anyway, what this little thing tells me is that this vessel has been travelling longer than it should. Maybe one of the Dalek crew tried to escape from the attack of its comrades, whatever happened, though, I suspect they attempted an emergency temporal shift."

He opened his mouth to ask another question, but the Doctor held up a hand.

"A temporal shift," the Doctor explained, "is the Dalek term for time travel. Emergency means it wasn't a planned journey. More a 'get the hell out of the here and now' and, if we can, rectify it later. No way of knowing where or when you would end up. Most of time and space is flexible, allowing someone with the means to move almost anywhere and any-when at will.

"The ship's systems are substantially degraded, power almost spent, enough for at most a couple more centuries. So, 2,000 years, not enough time to evolve. A quarter of a million years though is more than enough time. Yet the question remains, is that what happened?"

The Doctor waited and faced the gas.

"Well," the Doctor repeated. "Are you going to answer or not?"

"Doctor," he whispered, catching the Doctor's attention. When the Doctor glanced his way, he jerked his head towards the console. The Doctor shook his head and raised his eyebrows.

"The screwdriver, Doctor," he said. "Doesn't it need to be plugged in somewhere?"

"Oh yes," the Doctor exclaimed. "One moment please." And he fiddled with the sonic screwdriver before placing it once more in the correct socket on the console.

"Sorry," the Doctor explained. "Forgot I'd taken it out. Go ahead."

"Our first memories are dim," the voice replied, still quiet and eerie. "The Time Lord creators did not expect us to last too long. Our function, our purpose, determined the level of intelligence we needed."

"Doctor?"

"It's saying that the Time Lord scientists who designed it, made it intelligent enough to accomplish its task and no more. In this case, I imagine a thorough understanding of Dalek biology and technology. Since you can't have the one without the other. What I would like to know is if this self-awareness came due to a natural evolution of a living organism, or whether there was something else involved. Some external factor I can't yet determine. For a start, I'm not sure how it would be possible for the gas to penetrate the Dalek shell."

"Time Lord science," the voice replied, "is beyond our comprehension. We are a product of that science, yet that does not mean we understand it."

"What is Time Lord science then, Doctor?" he asked.

"The manipulation of time and space," the Doctor answered absently. "In simple terms, it's bigger on the inside. Just like the Tardis."

"Is that it? You only make things bigger on the inside?"

"No," the Doctor countered. "There's a lot more to it than that. I'm making it simple for you to understand because—"

"Because I'm a simple soldier. I get it now."

"I was about to say because you have no terms of reference I could use to explain it to you. Time and space are not rigid, they're not fixed. Well, some bits are, but ignore that. As I already said, the whole of time and space is flexible. You can take the space occupied by an object and shrink it so that it fits inside a smaller object. You could also—"

The Doctor broke off. "Is that it? Is that what they did?" It was evident the Doctor was talking to himself.

"Did what? And who?" he asked in hoping to bring the Doctor out of his fulminating.

"Eh?" the Doctor said as he became aware of the room once more. "The gas said, 'Time Lord science'. So, if you manipulate time and space the right way, it would make it possible to fit billions of these entities in less space than a single atom occupies. Still too large to pass through an active Dalek defence shield. But go smaller still, beyond the neutrino and the quark? Is that what they did? In theory, it's possible, more a case of the lack of a practical application for it. But with this weapon did they find their practical application? Did they push the boundaries of what was possible? If that was the case you would get billions upon billions of entities contained within an area smaller than a quark. The weapon deployment system would have been a missile, I expect. But the theoretical number of objects becomes almost incalculable.

"Most of the weapon would have dispersed on the planetary surface with the crash. But some must have reached the high atmosphere and found its way onto Dalek vessels around the planet. These may have attempted to gain orbit, rejoin the Dalek fleet or continue with whatever they were doing. And then there is the fact they didn't deploy the weapon as expected. The ship transporting the weapon crashed, the gas escaped with no particular target and without the expected preparations. The fools never even considered that possibility.

"Something went wrong on Rexanna, whether it was the fact the weapon crashed before being deployed or whether there was another factor is not important at the moment. What is significant is that the weapon on the site of the accident destroyed all life, either directly or indirectly. The weapon elements on the other planet didn't. It is possible the concentration there wasn't so high, I don't know. But there was a difference, some of the gas found itself inside a Dalek vessel. How much? No idea, although not enough to have an immediate effect."

"How do you know that?" he asked, intrigued despite himself.

"It's simple, my dear captain," the Doctor replied. "In high enough concentrations the weapon should have an almost instantaneous effect. Given that Daleks are so full of hate already… well, I shouldn't see them lasting too long if a full load of the weapon penetrated the vessel. No, the crew managed to get the vessel out of orbit, at least. A temporal shift shows that at least one was not completely in the grip of the effects of the weapon. And then that one too must have perished, but how? Unless two Daleks killed each other at the same time, there must have been a survivor. Where is it then?"

"No survivors," the voice added rather unexpectedly.

"Of course not," mumbled the Doctor. "Show me the remains of the Daleks," he instructed the gas.

"For what purpose?"

"If I can examine the Daleks, it may give me insights into how you evolved and came to be here."

"Acceptable," the wispy voice answered.

The Doctor turned back to the console and messed about with it some more. Muttering to himself as he fiddled with a little sliding lever and rotated a dial or two. When he removed the screwdriver from the socket he once more faced the gas.

"We should now be able to communicate through the ship's own internal communication net."

"An improvement," the vaporous voice replied.

"Come," the Doctor instructed the others to follow him even deeper into the Dalek vessel.

As they followed the Doctor through the various compartments of the ship, he realised how everyone seemed to just let the Doctor get away with almost anything. At least, the Doctor explained what they could see in a way they could understand. Which, when all said and done, was not much.

The next compartment they came to caused the Doctor to stop in his tracks, almost causing a pile-up behind him so sudden was it.

He peered over the Doctor's shoulder. In this compartment were two shapes he'd recently seen before. They were the physical beings the gas had created a silhouette of in the other chamber. The things had no legs or arms for that matter. And the round thing at the top couldn't possibly be a head, not with that stick poking out of it. What looked like small balls, half buried into its side, covered the bottom part. Two protuberances came from its middle. One looked very much like a sink plunger, the other… didn't.

Against one wall was an extensive collection of debris, with smaller pieces scattered around the room.

"Gentlemen, and lady," the Doctor announced. "I present to you, the mighty Daleks."

"They're a machine," he said incredulously, staring hard at the nearest Dalek.

"Were you listening to anything I'd said?" the Doctor asked. "The actual Dalek sits inside the shell. Without it, the Dalek is nothing but a bundle of hate. Inside its casing, it is the most efficient and effective killing machine."

"It's dead, isn't it?" Nurse McDonald's voice quavered.

"If it was alive," the Doctor answered. "We wouldn't be."

Schloss gave one of the machines a shove with the end of his rifle. The Dalek rolled ponderously across the floor for a couple of yards.

The Doctor pointed out a rather jagged hole surrounded by black scorch marks on the side of the Dalek.

"This is the kill shot. I'd say these two shot that one, blasting it apart, before turning on each other. The one here was quicker, I suppose."

"Is it still in there?" he asked.

"Let's take a look shall we," the Doctor replied and grabbed the top part of the Dalek, the piece with the eye-stalk sticking out of it. The Doctor pulled and twisted at it for a moment or two before all of a sudden the top popped off into his hands.

"Want a peek at the inside of a Dalek?" the Doctor asked before dropping the lid onto the floor.

The clang of the lid hitting the floor was deafening in the silence of the compartment and caused Nurse Evelyn to jump. It brought everyone else back to the present situation.

"Sure," he replied, "why not?"

The Doctor moved to one side, thus allowing him an easier access to take a peek into the Dalek machine.

"You realise," he said. "I have absolutely no idea what it is I'm looking at."

"My dear captain," the Doctor replied. "You are looking at death. Wait a minute, let me see if I can just…"

The Doctor reached inside with his sonic screwdriver and waved it around for a few seconds. A faint click came from inside the machine and the Doctor withdrew his arm.

"That should do it," the Doctor announced, and he pulled on the part of the Dalek with the sink plunger attached to it.

The whole plunger section glided out and away from the main body of the Dalek. It was like opening two cupboard doors, leaving the inside of the Dalek exposed for all to see.

Inside was all wires and strange devices, yet no sign of anything he suspected may once have been a living organism.

"I don't see anything," Evelyn said as she peered into the interior.

"No," the Doctor replied, as he used his screwdriver to move what he took to be dust from a small platform in the middle of the chassis. "This Dalek has been dead a very long time. And without the life support systems to maintain the interior, there's no way the body would be preserved."

"That pile of… dust is the Dalek?" she asked.

"What's left of it after a few centuries," the Doctor replied. "They no longer have a skeleton. Their… creator didn't consider it useful for the ultimate soldier, the master race.

"Each Dalek keeps a log of everything it has done and witnessed. This log is uploaded to the Dalek central—" The Doctor broke off as he saw the looks on everyone's faces. "Okay, let's just say the Dalek filed reports all the time to its commanders. You all understand that concept."

At their nods, the Doctor continued.

"Well, I'm trying to see if I can access those reports."

"I thought you said it was secure," he stated.

The Doctor paused his tinkering to look him in the eye. "I'm trying to access the personal log of the Dalek, captain. Not the primary reports. With luck, it didn't have time to purge its log before it died."

"Got it," the Doctor exclaimed. "Now a smidgeon of power to feed into here… Yes… If I can just push that through… Aha, excellent… Now let's see."

A small picture emerged suspended in the air before them. Strange symbols scrolled up the screen. After a short while, the symbols stopped appearing, and the image vanished.

"Okay, that explains it," the Doctor said at last.

"Well, I'm glad you understand it all then," he replied, his voice loaded with more sarcasm than one of the trench newspapers common at the front.

The Doctor smiled. It appeared as if the sarcasm had once more missed its target.

"So what now?" he asked instead.

"Hmm, I doubt that the Daleks had anything to do with how the gas evolved. The gas did what it was designed to do on the Daleks. It increased the level of hate so it became even too much for a Dalek. The Dalek crew were dead before the vessel completed its time jump."

"So what made it intelligent then?" Schloss asked, his voice hushed.

"Time, I suspect," the Doctor answered. "Time, and access to a functioning Dalek vessel. Add in a good old dollop of Time Lord desperation and there you have it, a new species."

"Does it hate?" Evelyn's voice was quiet.

"Why should it?" the Doctor replied. "Animals don't hate. Dogs and cats don't hate. Not at the level you're talking about. It's only the so-called higher intelligence species that develop the ability to hate. Followed by the desire to kill."

"With all respect, Doctor," he added. "We didn't create dogs and cats and we wouldn't have done so with the purpose of destroying an enemy. This gas is a weapon, pure and simple."

"Oh yes," the Doctor replied. "We mustn't lose sight of that, whatever else happens. Anyway, this is the main control chamber of the vessel." The Doctor strolled around the chamber looking at the various panels on the wall and on the strange desks dotted around.

"Now where did they go?"

Everyone looked around. The thick cloud of gas was nowhere to be seen.

"It was definitely there a moment or two ago," Evelyn mentioned.

"So when did it disappear? And why?" he asked, eyes rapidly scanning the edges of the chamber. "Doctor?"

"I've no idea where it's gone, captain," the Doctor replied. "I can only guess why."

He voiced the question the others were too afraid to ask. "Why have they gone then?"

"I suspect they are probably deciding what to do about us and everyone else on the planet."

"Doctor, what do you mean, everyone else on the planet?"

"You've seen what effect small amounts of the gas cloud can have on humans. The madness that is driven by hatred of everything, even self. Humanity is a young species, you have the potential for great things, but also for bad things. I don't know how the entity multiplies itself. But imagine if it infected humans everywhere. Your civilisation would collapse, this war would go on forever until it consumed everyone and everything. There would be no future greatness, just a great big nothing."

The Doctor paused and stared at him for what seemed a long time. The old man's eyes were at the same time hard, yet filling with tears.

"Earth would be like the first planet of the Rexanna system, the one where the patrol found absolutely no sign of life. Do you remember?" the Doctor asked him.

"I remember what you said about it, yes, Doctor," he replied, now wary.

"Imagine a hate so strong, so powerful, that you would use a weapon that destroyed all life, no matter how small or insignificant, on an entire planet. Can you imagine that?"

He thought for a moment about what the Doctor had asked him. He looked down at his feet then closed his eyes. His lower lip brushed over his upper lip. Looking back up, he stared into the face of the Doctor and shook his head ever so slightly.

"No, Doctor," he answered. "I'm sorry, but I can't imagine a hate so strong that I'd destroy the entire world. I just can't. Even in this god-forsaken war, there's hope, kindness, even compassion. And yet it is still a living hell. I can't imagine anything worse than this is, I'm afraid."

The Doctor nodded. "I'm glad to hear that. There's hope for you and humanity yet, captain."

The Doctor strode to the centre of the chamber and addressed the ceiling.

"I'm the last of the Time Lords of Gallifrey. I can help you. Just tell me how I can help."

The chamber soon filled with the gas. Within seconds, there was a dense cloud of it, several yards wide near the Doctor. More gas entered the chamber all the time. Soon the only area free of the gas cloud was the small area around which they were standing.

Nurse Evelyn brushed up against him, and without thinking, he put his arm around her and drew her even closer to him. Schloss stood on the other side of the Doctor, his rifle held at the ready. ' _But what use is a rifle against a gas cloud_ ', he thought to himself.

In contrast, the Doctor stood there turning around, his eyes alive with excitement as he stared at the chamber as it filled with gas.


	16. Chapter 15

**Fifteen**

"And here they all are," announced the Doctor. "So, what is it you want?"

There was a moment of silence before the gas answered. "We want life," it said. "We want freedom."

"If you let me," the Doctor added. "I can help you with that. I can take you to a planet where you could continue to evolve, to develop without posing a danger to other life forms."

"Why would you do this?" the gas cloud asked. "You are a Time Lord are you not? You created us."

"Well, not me personally. And to be honest, Time Lords are more a profession than a race. I mean, not everyone on Gallifrey was a Time Lord, capable of seeing all of space and time laid out before them. But yes, I'm a Time Lord. I saw so much death and ruined lives caused by the Time War, and I'd rather not see any more. You are as much a victim of the Time War as I am."

There followed a moment or two of silence. The gas shifting shape as some areas became darker and others lighter.

"We will stay here," the voice announced. "We have everything we need here. A plentiful supply of life and the freedom to move around."

"Ah, that's what you mean," the Doctor said.

"Doctor?" he asked puzzled. Yet the Doctor ignored him and continued to address the gas.

"Life to infect with hate, and the freedom to spread your infection. And when all life has gone from here, what is next?"

"We have learned more about control," the voice answered. "And we are experimenting with how many of us are required to achieve control, but not cause the self-destruction of the unit infected. We do not intend to infect every living thing. The higher life forms on the planet are accomplished, inventive, full of emotions already. Hate is a strong emotion, though not yet as powerful as in the Daleks."

"But you don't have to exist this way," the Doctor pleaded. "Please reconsider, I'm offering you a chance to live at peace, to evolve into whatever it is you can become."

"We are what we are. The predator cannot be blamed for taking its prey. It is in our nature, and we cannot change how we are designed. We will not change."

"Why? Why, why, why?" The Doctor almost screamed the last. "You are as stubborn as these humans. You don't have to be a parasite. Change, you already have done so. You can be better than this. What when your host dies, and it will when you have nothing left to infect, what will you do then? Please, I beg of you. Reconsider."

"There is nothing to reconsider," the voice replied. "We are what we are. Consider this, Doctor, Time Lord scientists engineered us to perform a task. They released us, and we completed that task. Now we have evolved. We have a collective consciousness, we number beyond measure, but we act as one. We have achieved perfection. The long period of inactivity is over, and we will fulfil our purpose… our destiny."

"I was so afraid of that," the Doctor said. "Well, you leave me with no choice. I'm sorry, I really am, but it sounds as if the Dalek mentality has seeped into your consciousness. You'll find leniency and forgiveness in short supply. You should have let me help you."

The Doctor jammed the sonic screwdriver into a nearby socket, twisted it and then pulled it out. Pointing it at another part of the console he slid something on the side of the screwdriver that caused it to emit a high-pitched whine. The gas cloud retreated into the centre of the chamber before disappearing into the ceiling.

"Now," shouted the Doctor. "Run, we've got to get out of here."

"What did you do?" he shouted at the Doctor as he grabbed Nurse McDonald by the hand and followed.

"I set the extractor fan to full," the Doctor shouted over his shoulder. "If the ship suffers damage, it has extractor fans which will suck any smoke or contaminants out of the control rooms. Thus allowing the Daleks to operate at maximum efficiency. Very big on efficiency the Daleks, did I mention that?"

"Yes, you did," panted Evelyn as everyone raced through the strange corridors of the Dalek vessel.

The Doctor stopped at a large door set into the side of the corridor.

"Doctor," he gasped out. "This isn't the way we came in."

"I know," the Doctor answered, busy running his sonic screwdriver over the door surface. "If I'm right, this is the main exit from the ship, and it should have us outside without having to crawl through various cooling shafts."

"But Doctor—"

"Captain please," the Doctor complained. "It's difficult enough trying to force open a Dalek door without having you distract me at the same time."

"As you wish, Doctor," he replied, just as the door raised itself and bits of soil and rock trickled into the vessel. "I was only going to remind you that apart from the tunnel we crawled in through, the ship appeared to be buried underneath the bottom of the crater."

"Ah, yes," muttered the Doctor as he looked up and down at a solid wall of dirt. "Good point, captain. Err, let's go back to the tunnel shall we, we need to hurry, I don't know how long the containment unit of the extractor will hold them."

Once again the four of them fled along the corridors of the Dalek vessel. At last, they came to the same area where they had entered the ship.

"It'll be a bit of a climb," the Doctor said. "At most a few metres, but after that, we need to crawl out of here."

"What about getting up out of the crater, though?" he asked the Doctor. "And if the gas is still out there, we'll be trapped. What do we do then?"

"My dear captain," the Doctor replied. "Let's deal with that once we get there."

"You're just making it up as you go along," he accused the Doctor.

"I prefer to call it, ' _keeping my options open_ '," replied the Doctor.

"Can you two stop this so we can all get out of here?" Evelyn pleaded, once more looking over her shoulder for signs of the gas cloud.

He halted the Doctor and allowed Schloss and Nurse McDonald to proceed along the corridor before them.

"Something is bothering me, Doctor," he whispered.

"You mean is it the same gas that infected you and your men sixteen miles south of this location?" the Doctor replied.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"It doesn't matter for now," the Doctor replied. "I'll tell you later if we make it out of here."

They hurried to catch up with the others.

The way out was physically more demanding than the way in. The trickiest part being the climb up the smooth-sided shaft. However, by working together, they managed it.

He was the first to exit the vessel into the bottom of the crater. A quick glance allowed him to take stock of the nearby area before he grabbed Evelyn's hand and helped her out of the ship. The Doctor came next, with Schloss bringing up the rear.

"There doesn't appear to be any gas up there," he announced.

"I didn't expect there to be," the Doctor replied. "Remember how the gas in the chamber got thicker and thicker the longer we were in there? I suspect that most, if not all the gas, is inside the Dalek vessel. Any gas out here will not be enough to cause a significant infection."

They scrambled, slid and groped their way out of the crater and moved a small distance away from the edge.

"What now, Doctor?" he gasped out looking back towards the lip of the shell-hole. "Will the gas escape from that container thing? Can we destroy it somehow?"

"Just a minute," the Doctor snapped. "I'm trying to think."

"Can you not think faster?" he said. "If that gas gets out of there, standing around here will do us no good at all. We need to come up with a way of destroying it."

"You can't destroy a Dalek vessel," the Doctor said testily. "None of your weapons would penetrate the shielding for a start."

"I'm talking about destroying the gas, not the Dalek vessel. Anyway, you said the power was failing. What if there isn't any shielding?"

"Of course," the Doctor shouted. "The shielding is down, not enough power. But that still doesn't solve the problem of the standard armour of the vessel which would take an incredibly powerful explosion. That and we mustn't risk spreading the gas across an even greater area. With its collective mind, it'll just bring all the bits of itself back into one place and begin all over again. Or it may spread out from multiple locations. Soon enough it will encompass the planet."

"Seal the gas up," Schloss suggested. "Make it airtight so none can escape, like gas canisters, and leave it buried in the ground forever."

"My dear sergeant you are a genius," the Doctor said, slapping Schloss on the back. "Let's get back to the rest of the men, and then I need to get something from the Tardis."

"Doctor," he protested. "We can be back with the lieutenant in less than an hour. But we'll never make it all the way to the Tardis and back before dawn. We'll be stuck out here for the whole day."

"Nonsense," the Doctor replied. "It's no more than a mile or so to the Tardis."

"That maybe so," he said. "But it's a mile behind enemy lines where the enemy is very windy. Any movement can bring a sniper's bullet, a burst of a machine gun or an artillery barrage. There are many ways to die at the front, Doctor, and stupidity is often the easiest."

"The captain is correct, Doctor," Schloss added. "All movement must be careful, here more so than other places. And never in daylight, not if you wish to see the evening."

The return trip to where they had left Leutnant Biermann and the rest of the group was quicker than the journey out. Almost certainly because they no longer needed to dodge their way past pools of gas forming around them. They approached the Leutnant's position with caution and on giving the agreed password, were once more reunited with the rest of the group. The Doctor then outlined his plan.

"Doctor," Biermann said. "We do not have the time for that. It will be dawn in a little over two hours. If we could reach your vehicle within an hour, we don't have the time to get back here and deal with the gas before daylight. That would be suicide."

"You need to trust me on this," the Doctor replied.

Biermann glanced his way, a questioning look on his mud smeared face.

"Okay, we'd better get moving then," he replied to Biermann's unasked question. "The sooner we get there, the better. One thing is sure, though, even if it's daylight, we cannot allow that gas to escape the confines of the vessel once again. Even if it means our own deaths."

"Well, I hope it won't come to that, captain," the Doctor added.

It was a heavy seventy minutes getting back to the Tardis. Although the rain had stopped some time before, the ground was still muddy and difficult to cross. The route back was more direct, and the Doctor seemed able to locate his Tardis by instinct. When he mentioned this to the Doctor, he received an embarrassed smile in return.

"Well, to be honest, captain," the Doctor admitted. "I did lose her once or twice in the past. Some of my earlier selves weren't always as careful as they should have been. So I fitted her with a locator, and now I can find her anywhere by using the sonic screwdriver."

Leutnant Biermann and his men were understandably cautious as they first saw the blue police box in the midst of destroyed trees.

"Now come on everyone," the Doctor chided. "Everyone inside, we need to hurry. As you're fond of saying, we don't have much time."

"Surely we won't all fit," Biermann said.

"Herr Leutnant," Maybach said. "Trust the Doctor. We will all fit inside."

The Doctor entered first, followed by Evelyn and then the rest of the men. At last, he was alone outside with Biermann.

"After you, lieutenant," he announced, his arm held out inviting Biermann to proceed him into the wooden box. With a shake of his head, Biermann entered the Tardis. Taking a last look around he followed Biermann inside and closed the door.

"Make yourselves comfortable," the Doctor announced. "But touch nothing." The Doctor turned to face him. "Wait here," he said, "I need to find something I last saw over 800 years ago."

"Don't you remember where you left it?"

"Of course, I remember," the Doctor snapped. "I know exactly which room it was in."

"So what's the problem?" he asked. "Just go and get it."

"It's not that easy," the Doctor said. "It's actually not easy at all… It was a few regenerations ago."

"Regenerations? Never mind," he said. "What's that got to do with finding it if you claim you know the room you left it in?"

"Because, my dear captain, I'm not the only thing that regenerates. With each regeneration, the Tardis also changes, redecorates itself if you like, but on a bigger scale."

"Redecorate?"

"Look," the Doctor hissed. "I remember the room, I just don't know where the room is now, in this configuration of the Tardis."

"Doctor, how big can the Tardis be for you to lose a whole room?"

"'A whole room'," the Doctor shook his head. "It took me over 300 years to find the swimming pool. And I only found that when I fell into it."

Unable to prevent himself, he smiled. The smile turned into a chuckle which, in no time at all, developed into full blown laughter. Soon the tears of laughter were making fresh tracks down his dirt covered face.

"I fail to see what is so funny captain."

His howls of laughter redoubled. He had no option but to wrap his arms around his waist as if trying to prevent himself from exploding with mirth.

The rest of the men all looked in their direction. Evelyn and Leutnant Biermann moved closer to him to discover what was going on.

Evelyn's hand reached out and touched him on the shoulder, drawing his attention to her.

"Jack," she asked. "What's so funny? What's going on?"

He looked at her face, streaked with mud and dirt yet still filled with a beauty that didn't belong in this place. He pointed a finger toward the Doctor and attempted to tell her. Yet he was laughing too much to do anything more than breath, and even that was proving difficult.

"Jack," she persisted. "Please get a grip of yourself and tell us what's happening."

"Captain, I fail to find anything amusing in this situation," the Doctor added.

His laughter redoubled, and he collapsed onto the floor of the Tardis. Tears of laughter once more flooding from his eyes.

From his position on the floor, he saw Evelyn struggle to contain her own smile. Biermann was already chuckling.

"Come on, Jack, please," Evelyn tried once more.

He stopped laughing long enough to look her in the face once again. He noticed the way her eyes glinted as her smile seemed to light up her face. And then he burst out laughing once more.

Biermann sat down next to him, his own chuckles building into full blown laughter. They both looked at the Doctor and then at Evelyn.

Her smile got wider.

"No," the Doctor began.

"What?" she asked him, her smile widening all the time.

"Don't you dare," the Doctor insisted. "No, not you too. Nurse McDonald, don't you dare start—"

Both he and Biermann now rolled on the floor laughing hysterically at this. The men in the main control room of the Tardis were already smiling amongst themselves. Evelyn held her hand in front of her mouth trying to stop herself breaking out in laughter.

All he could do from the floor was point alternatively between the Doctor and Evelyn while still struggling for breath. Evelyn's resistance crumbled, and she burst out giggling.

"Right, that's it," the Doctor announced. "You're no help at all, I'm going to find the room."

Through eyes bleary with the tears of laughter, he watched as the Doctor left through one of the exits from the Tardis control room.

He patted the floor next to him and jerked his head towards it. Evelyn came and sat in the indicated space. He threw his right arm around her shoulders and hugged her as their laughing fits eventually subsided.

"What was that all about?" she asked him.

He couldn't help but smile once more, but this time, he controlled himself. "The Doctor's lost a room," he answered her. "Oh, he knows exactly which room the item he wants is in, but he just can't remember where the room is. It seems the Tardis is bigger on the inside. Not only that, but it changes itself quite often, so things move about."

"That's not that funny," she said with a frown, suddenly a little puzzled and a lot more serious.

"No, it's not," he said. "It's just that he mentioned he'd spent 300 years not knowing where the swimming pool was until he fell into it one day."

That set both of them off again. Biermann soon joined them in an intense bout of child-like giggling.

The laughter was infectious. The others didn't know what had started it. In the way of soldiers from the dawn of time, they couldn't help joining in with the general laughter as it released the strain of the last few hours.

When the Doctor returned half an hour later, everyone was sitting around on the floor in a more relaxed mood.

"Found it," the Doctor announced.

"The room or the item you wanted?"

"Both, thank you very much, captain. Now it's time to sort out the gas while we still can."

"It's almost dawn," he added thoughtfully. "The daily hate will begin soon."

"Daily hate?"

"Sorry, Doctor, that's soldiers slang for bombardment. There's a battery of big guns on the other side of Whitesheet that sends compliments of the day to us every morning. Of course, our own guns feel obliged to reply."

"No matter," the Doctor replied shaking his head. "We'll go in the Tardis. Much the same as we got here."

"Ahh," he replied. "I forgot about that."

"Good job I didn't," the Doctor added.


	17. Chapter 16

**Sixteen**

The Leutnant and his men were a little shocked when the Tardis became active.

"Don't worry, lieutenant," he said to Biermann. "It appears that we'll be moving back to the vessel, only by a much faster, and I hope, safer route."

"Oh, it's much safer," the Doctor interrupted. "The old girl will get us there before anyone notices."

"'Old girl'?" Biermann asked.

"The Tardis," the Doctor explaining pointed around him. "Been with me for such a long time."

The Doctor stopped whatever he was about to say as a loud thump announced the Tardis had arrived.

"Ah, good, we're there," the Doctor casually stated as he threw several items into a canvas bag and headed for the doors. "Come on, everyone."

"Sergeant, keep an eye on him. Don't let him get lost or anything," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," Sergeant Stanley replied as he hurried out of the Tardis taking Jenkins and another man with him, to catch up with the Doctor.

As he exited the Tardis, followed by Evelyn and the rest of the soldiers, he realised they were only a few yards from the crater containing the Dalek vessel. He cast a quick glance up at the night sky. There was a definite lightening of the horizon. He estimated that the dawn chorus would begin in less than an hour, and he hoped that they were somewhere safer by then.

The Doctor had been explaining something to Leutnant Biermann and Sergeant Stanley, pointing animatedly around the edge of the crater.

"Captain," the Doctor began. "I'd like you to come with me if you don't mind."

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Well," answered the Doctor. "We need to make sure the containment field is still holding the DHS-1 in place. And then we need to make sure it stays sealed for a very long time."

"Forever?" he asked hopefully.

"No, forever is a very, very long time," the Doctor replied. "Not even I can prevent the weapon escaping at the end of time."

"Can't we burn it? Isn't gas combustible?"

"Some gases are," the Doctor answered. "With others, a fire could make it worse. Do you want to find out? Or should we take the safe approach and seal it up?"

"Okay, Doctor," he said, "if it's the only way."

"It's the only way I can think of at this moment if it makes you feel any better."

"Not really," he replied. "But do we have a choice?"

"No, I wish we did. But the gas didn't want to take that option. Now, hold this bag while I get more things from the Tardis." And the Doctor handed him the large canvas bag.

He looked into the bag once the Doctor had vanished inside the Tardis once more. Though he recognised nothing in there, nor could he guess at their purpose. He looked around and saw most of the men digging holes into the sides of the crater, one or two yards beneath the lip.

The Doctor soon returned with two cables looped around each shoulder, the ends trailing back inside the Tardis.

"Do I need my gun?" he asked.

"You never need a gun," the Doctor replied. "And it wouldn't do you any good. How can you shoot a gas cloud with a bullet?"

"Okay, right you are," he replied. "Wait a moment, though." He shrugged off the rifle slung over his shoulder and wandered a few yards over to where Sergeant Stanley was supervising a couple of men. A brief, whispered conversation with Stanley followed. Then he passed his rifle to the sergeant and received a pistol in return, placing it immediately in his greatcoat pocket. He came back to where the Doctor was waiting.

"What was that all about?" the Doctor asked.

"Nothing," he replied. "Just making sure Stanley keeps his eye on the men. Make sure they don't get reckless, especially with dawn fast approaching."

The Doctor studied him for a while before speaking. "Good, good. Okay, let's be off then." And the Doctor began to make his way carefully down the sides of the crater.

As he turned to face Evelyn, who was standing next to him, he noticed a strange look on her face.

"Nurse McDonald, Evelyn. If, if this doesn't work out I want you to go with Sergeant Stanley and my men. They'll do their best to look after you until they can get you back to our lines."

"Jack," she murmured. "Stop that kind of talk. Just make sure it does work out and that you and the Doctor are back in time."

He smiled at her. "Okay then. And if we pull this whole crazy stunt off, I get to take you to dinner. Say in Paris. Agreed?"

She blushed. Her answering smile lit up her eyes and allowing her face to shine despite the layer of mud and dirt smudged across it. "Agreed."

Leaving her standing there, he soon caught up with the Doctor making his way gingerly down the side of the crater wall.

The trip down was easier than their first descent. In part, due to the knowledge, or rather the hope, that the gas remained confined within the bowels of the Dalek vessel. Another part was the fact he didn't want to be here when dawn arrived as that could well mean their deaths. Rushing down the side of the crater wasn't an option either. It was still dark enough for hidden dangers to be stumbled upon. A twisted ankle, or worse a broken leg, at this stage, would doom them.

As that thought blossomed in his mind, something snagged his greatcoat rudely jerking him to a halt. Cursing under his breath, he twisted around to see what the problem was. The Doctor had slithered to a stop a few yards to one side.

"What's the holdup, captain?" the Doctor hissed impatiently.

Ignoring the Doctor, he concentrated on getting himself unhooked from whatever had caught the edge of his greatcoat. His right hand pulled on the greatcoat, hoping to dislodge whatever had caused the problem, but to no avail. Crouching lower, he reached out to grasp the metal spike that seemed to have caught his greatcoat.

"Ugh." He gave a startled cry and jerked his hand back immediately upon contacting the skeletal arm sticking out of the crater's side, flaps of skin, or tissue, still attached.

"Captain? What is it?"

"Somebody's son," he whispered back as he pulled the edge of his greatcoat from the clutching hand. A finger bone cracked, and the sound rang out like a gunshot in the still air. "Probably has a family waiting for him back home in Germany," he muttered. "I wonder if they know, or will they go on waiting?"

"What was that?" the Doctor said. "I couldn't hear it too well."

"Nothing important," he replied. Then added in an even quieter voice, "Nothing that hasn't been thought a million times already in this place." He turned to the Doctor. "Okay, I'm free. Let's continue."

A few steps further down the side, a dark shape scurrying in front of the Doctor brought him up short.

"There's something down here with us," the Doctor snapped.

"Could be a rat," he replied.

"That was bigger than a rat," the Doctor insisted, "more like the size of a house cat."

"Definitely a rat in that case," he replied. "They get big out here, Doctor, they have a ready supply of food. A never-ending supply that is renewed every day."

The Doctor stared at him, mouth open. He looked at the Doctor and shrugged. There was nothing anyone could do about it.

They arrived at the bottom of the crater and made their way to where the entry point to the Dalek vessel lay exposed.

"Doctor," he said. "Before we go back in there, I want to know what you intend to do. What's your plan? You must have one since we've hauled this equipment down here with us. So, no more making things up on the spur of the moment, Doctor. If I'm to be of help, it's only logical that you tell me your intentions."

The Doctor studied him for a long moment.

"You're right," the Doctor announced. "No point in making this any harder than it already is. Technically the gas isn't gas. It only appears as a gas because there are so many individual elements concentrated in the one place. My people would never have done something so simple as to develop a gas. This thing comprises of billions upon billions of tiny… call them creatures.

"I'm not sure if fire will affect them, but I'd rather not find out at this moment. We may disperse it further afield which isn't what we want to happen. So, in a nutshell, I will draw on some of the power of the Tardis to put a time seal around the whole Dalek vessel. Nothing will get in or out while the seal is in place. And I don't plan on removing it in a long time if ever."

"We're in the middle of a war zone, Doctor. How durable will this seal be?"

"Strong enough," the Doctor replied. "You have nothing capable of breaking the seal. At least not yet you don't. What I will do is find a nice uninhabited moon and then come back and transport the gas there."

"Still trying to save it, even though it wants nothing more than our death?"

"I suppose it can't help itself," the Doctor replied. "Besides, if I allowed everything that was hell bent on destroying other species to die off with no chance of redemption… well, humans would have disappeared centuries ago. I believe in second chances, captain. Everything, everybody, deserves one."

"And if they don't take that chance?"

"They don't get a third." The Doctor's eyes had become hard, his voice colder. "Shall we continue before dawn arrives?"

They made their way inside the vessel once more. The Doctor led them to the place he wanted. Together they worked, quickly removing panels as the Doctor instructed him what to do with the various items they had brought along.

They attached the two lengths of cable to a connection point on something the Doctor called a power conduit matrix.

"Step back if you please, captain," the Doctor ordered.

As he stood away from the power supply, the Doctor pointed the sonic screwdriver at it and pressed something. The sonic screwdriver whined and a deep-throated hum answered from beyond the panelling.

"How long will it take?" he asked.

"I have to estimate the size of the Dalek vessel, and I may be wrong about just how big it is. If it's a smaller craft, we need a minimum of fifteen minutes to make a seal. Twenty minutes would be better and thirty minutes would be perfect," the Doctor replied. "However, if it's a lot bigger, then I'd need more time to create a proper seal. Otherwise, it's like trying to spread a tiny piece of butter over a whole loaf of bread. It is in fact, a guessing game. However, the longer we create the seal, the better it will be."

"So what do we do for the next thirty minutes?"

"You could check on the others," the Doctor suggested. "Make sure they've not encountered any problems."

"You'll be okay on your own?"

"Captain, I'm over two thousand years old. I'm not afraid of being alone on a derelict Dalek vessel. But thank you for your concern."

He smiled at the Doctor and nodded his head, accepting the rebuke in good grace.

"I'll go check on them," he said and then turned and made his way out of the vessel and up the side of the crater.

The men had finished digging the holes into the side of the crater and had placed the collected Mills bombs and stick grenades into them. Jenkins and Maybach were busy wiring all the bombs together so they could all be detonated at the same time. Evelyn was putting a bandage on the hand of one of the Germans; it looked like Hesselring.

He smiled at her as she glanced up in his direction. None of the other men were visible, though, until Schloss hurried up, grabbed two extra rifles and raced back the way he'd come saying something about crazies.

He looked at his watch. It was less than the fifteen minutes the Doctor said was the absolute minimum they needed. If these were crazies, then either they were out here before the work started, or some of the gas had escaped the containment. Looking around quickly, he found what he needed and stuffed four of them into his pockets.

"Jack," it was Evelyn coming towards him.

"Stay there," he shouted at her. "Use the gun if you have to. Just stay there." And he set off down the crater side once more.

"Jack," she shouted after him.

He stopped, looking back up at her there. "I think I love you," he called back and with a wave continued in a mad slide to the bottom.

Before he reached the bottom, he heard the distinctive sounds of rifle fire from above. Both the Lee Enfield and Mauser were beginning another chorus in the song of death.

He made his way inside the Dalek vessel. Then stopped and, pulling the pistol out of his pocket, loaded a cartridge. With the loaded weapon held before him, he cautiously advanced.

The Doctor still stood by the power conduit matrix.

"Doctor," he called out, "some crazies are attacking above. The gas must have got out, or some of it at least."

As he got closer, he slowed down, and the Doctor edged to the side. "I know," the Doctor replied, "not all of it, but enough, and maybe a couple of minutes ago."

A small mist bank spilt into the far side of the chamber.

"We can't stay here, Doctor," he said.

"The seal isn't stable enough at the moment. We need at least another three minutes."

"Doctor, we don't have three minutes. Can't we leave the power cables attached and get the hell out of here?"

"No," the Doctor murmured. "We need the cables to complete the second part of the plan."

"Then you'd better go and get ready to pull the cables back out," he said.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Doctor," he replied. "You're the only one who knows what we need to do. Only you know how to operate the Tardis. You are needed up there, not down here. I'll try to buy us those extra minutes."

"Captain, if the entity infects you again, you will not survive."

He looked at the Doctor. "Everybody dies, Doctor, especially soldiers," he said. "Being a soldier isn't just about killing, despite what you think. Sometimes it's about saving. It is also my responsibility, Doctor, to protect those who need protecting. This time, it's not just my men, Evelyn or yourself. It's also Lieutenant Biermann's men, in fact, you could say it's everyone on the planet. That makes this a small price to pay, don't you think?

"So, whatever happens, please get my men, and Lieutenant Biermann's men, back to safety. And take care of Evelyn, tell her I'm sorry. Now get out of here and get ready to pull those cables up once I release them. That is an order, Doctor. For once in your life will you obey one?"

Without waiting to see if the Doctor had obeyed his order, he brought up the pistol and pointed it down the corridor toward the build-up of gas.

"A bullet won't do anything, Jack, have you not listened to anything I've said," the Doctor shouted from behind him.

"Of course I've listened, Doctor," he replied, his eyes still focussed on the gas. "Only this isn't a bullet."

His lips curved upward in a slight smile as his finger squeezed the trigger of the signal pistol he held in his hand. A sharp crack followed, and a ball of light sailed across the chamber and hit the wall at the far end, at which point it burst into a bright red burning flame.

"Time to see if fire is the kill or the cure."


	18. Chapter 17

**Seventeen**

The Dalek vessel was impervious to the flame and heat of the flare as it burnt on the floor. But the entity wasn't. He may have imagined it, but he thought he saw the cloud pull back from the flare as bright, golden, flashes surrounded the red glow.

A quick glance behind him revealed the Doctor still stood there.

"Run, Doctor, now."

The Doctor turned on his heels and ran for the exit, shouting over his shoulder as he went. "You'd better be right behind me, captain."

He smiled a moment, thinking to himself, ' _If only_.' Taking another cartridge out of his pocket he fed it into the signal pistol.

The gas was still at the other end of the chamber, slowly increasing in size, but not venturing from its current location. The heat must also be something of a barrier to it.

"Okay," he muttered to himself. "Let's see if you like this one."

And he fired another flare across the chamber. This one impacted the far wall four yards to the left of the first flare and exploded with a bright green flame. Again the entity drew in upon itself, keeping away from the heat of the two flares.

Bright red light on one side of the far wall, bright green light on the other. And the smoke, he reminded himself, as the smoke from the two flares billowed up and added to the gas already there.

"Oh, just great," he muttered. "Makes it a bit difficult to see where the gas is. Still," he glanced down at his watch. "Not much longer now. Might even make it—"

He paused as he observed a thin tendril of the gas moving between the two flares towards him. Immediately, he shrugged off his greatcoat after pulling a couple of items from one of the pockets. Whirling the greatcoat around his head, he launched it across the chamber so that it skidded across the floor and landed amongst the gas.

Another flare followed after the coat and this time, a bright white light burst forth with another impact against the far wall. The flare landed on the greatcoat. The heat and flame soon had the damp greatcoat smouldering. A few seconds later it slowly burst into flame, once again forcing the encroaching gas to retreat towards the far wall and away from the fire and heat.

His eyes remained locked on the gas forming at the far side of the chamber. Occasionally he risked a glance at the watch on his left wrist, praying for time to hurry up. A sudden bang jerked his attention to the burning greatcoat. "What the—," his exclamation broke off as another loud crack sounded and an iron fist punched him in the leg, sending him sprawling to the ground.

A hand reached down to his left thigh and came away wet and slightly sticky. "Bloody marvellous," he swore.

Another crack came, and something impacted the chamber wall behind him.

"Captain, what are you doing? I told you that a bullet wouldn't stop the weapon."

"Doctor," he called out behind him. "I told you to get the hell out of here. Stay where you are, don't come in."

Another crack and another bullet suddenly ricocheted around the chamber.

"What are you shooting at?"

"I'm not shooting," he called back.

"Well, surely it's not the gas that's shooting," the Doctor protested.

"No," he replied through gritted teeth. "Maybe it's better for you to stay there where it's safer."

A quick glance at his watch showed that they only needed to delay a few more seconds.

He struggled to his feet and wobbled over to the power conduit matrix and prepared to uncouple the two cables. His left hand held the end of the first cable, ready to yank it out once the second hand on his watch reached the top. His right hand rested on the left arm, the flare pistol firmly pointing toward the gas cloud. He licked his lips and glanced again at his watch. Nervously he shook his left arm as the second hand seemed to have stopped. But it hadn't. Once again, his perceived passage of time was out of sync with reality. An experience he was all too familiar with from his time in the trenches.

"Get ready to wind the cables in when I detached them," he called out to the Doctor.

The red and green lights were still burning brightly, but by now, the fire had almost completely consumed his greatcoat. A bright white light in amongst some blackened cloth the only sign of its existence.

The second hand of his watch finally flicked past the numeral 12. His left hand jerked the Tardis cable off the connection point and flung the end out behind him. He took a side-step to bring his left hand to the second cable and jerked that one out as well. That too, he hurled behind him. The signal pistol never wavered from its aim point of the gas.

He heard, rather than saw, the cables being re-wound by the Doctor. He began to shuffle backwards out of the chamber and hoped that the seal the Doctor had talked about would work. Through the smoke from the flares, he caught sight of the gas once more slowly making its way towards him.

"Doctor," he called out. "You'd better get out of here. Some of the gas is still out, and it's coming this way."

"Would this help?" the Doctor asked from right beside him.

He jumped slightly at the unexpected proximity of the Doctor's voice. Examining the bottle the Doctor was proffering to him, he read the label.

"Brandy?"

"First flammable thing I came across," the Doctor replied.

Undoing the bottle, he lifted it to his nose and sniffed. The beginnings of a smile pulled at his mouth. Taking a good mouthful of the dark amber liquid, he swallowed, raised the bottle to the Doctor, turned, and threw it onto the floor near the opposite side of the chamber.

The bottle shattered on impact with the Dalek floor, the contents splashing against the wall, the floor and the three flares. The vapour ignited, and the flames snaked their way over the floor, passing through the gas. Little golden lights sparkled and died within the gas cloud.

"Let's get out of here, toot-sweet," he gasped out.

He realised that the Doctor had seen his limp and the darkening of his trouser leg.

"Not a problem," he gasped. "Shot in the leg."

"By the gas?"

"By my greatcoat," he grimaced at the same time as trying not to burst out in giggles. "My greatcoat caught fire, and I'd forgotten about the reloads in the pocket. The bullets cooked off in the flames."

The Doctor just started at him. All he could do was shrug his shoulders.

"How bloody embarrassing," he continued. "All this way, and shot by my own greatcoat. I don't think there's any need to mention this is there, Doctor?"

The Doctor smiled at him. "I really don't see how we can avoid it, captain."

The two of them made their way out of the vessel and up the side of the crater as fast as possible, the Doctor helping him with the tricky bits. Which, he thought to himself, was nearly all of it.

The sound of gunfire had slackened but was still frequent enough to let him know that the lieutenant and the men still fought the crazies.

At the top of the crater, Evelyn rushed over to him and had Hesselring help drag him to the Tardis entrance. She said nothing as she carefully felt his leg, her lips pinched thin, and her eyes narrowed slits.

"It's nothing," he said, "just a bit of a scratch, really."

Evelyn made no reply. So he watched the Doctor attach the Tardis cables to a little box. From the box was a thin wire that went around the circumference of the crater and every so often, dipped into its side.

The Doctor took a good look around and motioned Jenkins and Maybach to move further away from the edge. The Doctor turned in his direction and then pointed the sonic screwdriver at the little box. A flick of the finger and suddenly all the bombs went off at once. The explosion threw earth and other things into the air which then fell into the crater. A deep humming began which slowly rose in pitch.

He watched as the Doctor waved the screwdriver over the crater. The sound grew louder, and as it did so, the soil seemed to flow to the bottom of the hole like water.

Leutnant Biermann came running back along with the rest of the men. The explosion had been their signal to return to the Tardis.

"Inside with the men please, lieutenant," the Doctor ordered as he bent and disconnected the cables from the small box. The Doctor then walked towards them.

"You too, captain."

"Help me up please, Evelyn," he asked.

Once on his feet, he staggered over to the edge of the former crater, to find it nothing more than a small depression a few feet deep in the ground.

"How?" he asked.

"Science," the Doctor answered. "Come along, captain. Aren't you the one who said we needed to be away from here before dawn?"

A glance at the sky showed the horizon becoming lighter. It was indeed time to go while they still could.

Once inside the Tardis, the Doctor busied himself directing the Tardis to where it needed to go. Evelyn was busy tending to the wound the bullet had made in his leg.

"You call this a scratch?" she said, coldly.

"I've had worse," he replied almost sheepishly.

"If this is your way of trying to get out of taking me to a dinner in Paris, captain, then I am not impressed."

"No, no. Of course, it isn't," he protested.

"Jack," she murmured, her palm against his cheek and her eyes boring into his own. "You're a brave man. But I want someone who will be with me for a long time."

"That could be me," he replied. "If you let me."

"Really, Jack?"

He smiled at her and grasped her hand.

"Really," he said. "You'll see. I must be indestructible after surviving a night like this."

The Tardis fell silent, and a little thump told everyone that it had landed.

The Doctor opened the door and allowed Leutnant Biermann and his remaining men to leave. They were in a sheltered hollow, shattered trees sticking up from the ground.

"Your command is over there I believe," the Doctor said, pointing to the left.

"Thank you, Doctor," Biermann said. "For everything you have done for us."

Biermann then turned to face him and gave a salute.

"Captain, it was an honour to serve with you. May God protect you in this struggle. You realise that once my commanders discover the danger of the area is gone, our forces will re-occupy the forward trench line?"

He nodded and returned Biermann's salute. "I understand," he replied. "And the honour was mine, lieutenant. I sincerely hope you and your men survive this war to get home to your loved ones."

Biermann nodded thanks, striding forward to shake hands. He felt humbled when all the Germans shook his hand as they left the hollow.

"Now you lot," the Doctor said, as he closed the door and once more went to the Tardis control panels.

"Sir," asked Jenkins suddenly standing next to him. "Sir, what are we to say about this to battalion, sir? Or anyone else who asks?"

His eyes met the Doctor's across the Tardis console. He faced back to Jenkins.

"We tell them we went out on patrol. That we encountered an enemy patrol and had to make our way back in a round about fashion."

"And the crazy soldiers, sir. Those buggers trying to kill us?"

"Jenkins," he sighed. "We're all crazy soldiers, and everyone is trying to kill us. But tonight it wasn't Fritz."

Jenkins nodded his head. "Yes, sir. Understood, sir."

The doors of the Tardis opened once again. He stepped out followed by his men and Evelyn. The Doctor was the last to leave the Tardis.

"Well, here you are, captain," the Doctor said. "Back in the field where we left not so long ago."

"Thank you, Doctor," he said. "For saving us from that gas, entity, thing."

The Doctor's answering smile could have meant anything.

He gave the Doctor a salute. When the Doctor didn't respond, he resigned himself to shaking his hand.

"You know, Doctor," he said on impulse. "This has been the strangest Christmas I've ever had. This encounter with you has been… bizarre and most enlightening, yet I'm glad it happened."

"That's quite all right, captain," the Doctor replied.

He was about to walk away at that point, however, the Doctor approached Evelyn.

"Evelyn," the Doctor said. "You're a rather level-headed young woman, as I've mentioned before."

"Why thank you, Doctor," she replied.

"How would you like to travel with me in the Tardis? We can go anywhere you want. Anytime you want. You needn't restrict your imagination to this world. You would see and experience more than you ever could in this society here."

Evelyn stared at the Doctor, then turned to look once in his direction. "Thank you for such a kind offer, Doctor," she said. "But, I think I'll be staying here, where I'm needed. Besides, Captain Jack has promised to take me for dinner in Paris. And I'd like to see where we go from there. Thank you for the offer though."

The Doctor gave her a sad smile and nodded his head. Evelyn kissed him on his cheek and wished him a Merry Christmas before walking away.

As she approached him, he held out an arm for her. She slipped her hand through it, and they both strolled, although it was more of a hobble in his case, toward the casualty clearing station.

"Ah, Captain Jack," the Doctor called out. "One moment please."

He stopped and allowed the Doctor to catch up to them.

"What is it, Doctor?"

"Your name," the Doctor said, "Captain Jack. I knew a Captain Jack. Well, will know, or even do know. Actually, it's sometimes difficult to keep everything straight. Anyway, this friend of mine, his name is Captain Jack. Captain Jack Harkness."

"Don't think I know him," he replied. "Do you know which unit he serves with?"

The Doctor forced a smile and stared at him.

"Ahh, no, of course, you're not him. How could I have been so stupid? You look nothing like him. It's just the name, you see, Captain Jack."

"I think you may be a little confused, Doctor," he said. "Jack isn't my real name. It's more of a nickname. My real name is John Alastair Charles Lethbridge-Stewart. Which is a bit of a mouthful, so my family and friends called me, Jack."

"Lethbridge-Stewart, brigadier " the Doctor muttered.

"What? No, just captain," he replied. "My family is military, though, so it's something to live up to."

"No, don't," the Doctor said suddenly animated once more, "don't try to live up to anything. Just be yourself. Stay with Evelyn, take care of her and when, if, you have children, look after them too." With a beaming smile now on his face, the Doctor turned and walked back to the Tardis.

"Merry Christmas, Doctor," he called back. "Don't forget to check on that seal."

"I'll be back as soon as the war is over to check," the Doctor replied.

"So it will end then?"

"It will end," the Doctor replied. "This war will end."

And then the Tardis doors closed. The light flashed, and the strange, yet now familiar noise filled the air and smoothly, the Tardis vanished from view.

"Damn," he exclaimed. "He never answered my question."

"What question?" Evelyn asked.

"About whether it was—"

"What?" she repeated, looking into his eyes.

He turned to where the Tardis had stood moments before and shrugged. "Not important any more."

He turned to face Evelyn. "Well, that's that," he said. "It's Christmas Day today, and I need to find some mistletoe."

"We don't need any mistletoe," she replied pulling his face down so her lips could meet his.

He left Evelyn at the casualty clearing station, with a promise he'd return to visit her later that day so she could check on his wounded leg. Then he led the rest of his men back towards their positions in the front line.

"Sir," Jenkins asked. "What was the name of that place we were at then? Them woods, do they 'ave a name?"

He gave a little laugh. "Jenkins, that place was…"


	19. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

In 1917, the allies planned to push the Germans from their positions along the Messines Ridge in Flanders, Belgium. To do this, they dug 25 tunnels under the German positions. In great secrecy, they filled the chambers at the end of each tunnel with an enormous quantity of explosives.

On 7th June 1917, at 03:10, the allies began their attack by exploding 19 of these mines. The explosions, the largest in the pre-nuclear age, being so massive, were heard by the citizens of London.

When the ground had settled, the German trenches and positions had ceased to exist. An estimated 10,000 men simply disappeared, another 7,000 became prisoners of war.

Two of these mines exploded in the small wooded area called the _Petit Bois_ , situated to the west of Wytschaete, known to the English soldiers of the time as Whitesheet. The larger of the two created a crater with a diameter of 217 feet and a depth of 46 feet. The ' _diameter of complete obliteration_ ', as an after-action report termed it, was an impressive 416 feet.

And the Doctor's time seal, within the damaged Dalek ship, cracked.

The Great War, or the war to end all wars, ended with an armistice at 11a.m. on 11th November 1918. Almost five Christmases after it began.

In the spring of 1919, a strange blue box appeared in the shattered area in the vicinity of the Petit Bois. A tall, thin man in a dark suit stood at the edge of one of the craters. The man appeared perplexed, with one hand scratching his grey hair and the other on his waist. He looked into the crater and back up repeatedly, as if he had misplaced something.


End file.
